


Tricks of the Mind

by The Neon Gang (clgfanfic)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: ATF Denver AU, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:03:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/The%20Neon%20Gang
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vin can't remember who he is...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tricks of the Mind

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Let's Ride #9.
> 
> A recycle of a clg Riptide fic.
> 
> Be warned, this story is not medically accurate, but it does follow the typical television amnesia pattern, so we hope you'll just enjoy it and excuse our literary license.

**Sunday morning**

Vin watched as his best friend limped stiffly across the kitchen, heading for the coffeepot.  He winced in sympathy when Chris sucked in a soft hiss after putting a little too much weight on his injured leg.

"Want me t' get that?" he asked, starting to stand up from the table.

"Naw, it's okay," Chris replied, gesturing for him to sit back down while he inched closer to his goal.  "The doctor said I need to keep moving around, putting more weight on it."

Vin nodded, but he couldn't look away from the suffering man.  This was all his fault, and he sighed softly.  Their last assignment had turned sour and he'd let his temper get the better of him.  Ignoring protocol, he'd left his position and, as a result, Larabee had gotten shot.

But the man they had been after was a predator, an animal that traded guns for children, and he just couldn't let him get away.

And Chris had paid the price.

Thank God the bullet had only passed through thigh muscle, missing bone and artery, but Larabee was still hurting, and each flinch, each grimace, each grunt of pain sent a stab of guilt and remorse straight through Vin's heart, leaving him feeling miserable.

And if that wasn't bad enough, the firefight between Vin and Thomas Carroll had ended up taking down Ezra as well, leaving the undercover man with a sprained wrist and a nasty bruise on his cheek from where he'd hit the curb, diving for cover.

_I should've just stayed where I was supposed to.  We would've gotten him…_

But the images of Carroll's last victim, a beautiful four-year-old Asian girl, had filled his head, and continued to haunt him.  Even in death her face had remained angelic, but what Carroll had done to the rest of the child's body was beyond imagining.

Vin shook his head slightly, chasing the gruesome memories away.  _I did what I had t' in order t' stop the bastard_ , he told himself sternly.

 _But y' let Chris get shot, an' y' got Ezra hurt_ , the more critical side of his mind chastised him.

"Vin?"

The sniper looked up, blue eyes haunted.  "Y' need something?" he asked, starting to stand again.

"No, I'm fine," Chris said, waving at his friend to sit once more.  He carried his coffee cup to the table and carefully sat down.  "Listen to me, okay?  It's just a little sore, so stop beating yourself up.  It's over."

Vin dipped his head and stared into his own empty cup.  "Just feel—"

"Responsible," Chris interrupted him.  "I know.  Look," he said, reaching out to rest his hand on Vin's arm, "I know it didn't go down the way we wanted it to, but we got the bastard.  He's not putting any more guns on the street, and he sure as hell isn't going to hurt any more kids."

"Should've stayed where I was," Vin argued, shaking his head.  "Y' wouldn't've got shot."

"Maybe, maybe not," Chris countered.  "But sometime we have to go with our gut; you know that.  How many times has one of us acted on instinct in the middle of an assignment?"

Vin shook his head.  "Ain't the point.  If I'd been where I was supposed t' be—"

"Then Carroll might've gotten away, and there might be another family out there, mourning another dead kid."

Vin sighed heavily and leaned back.  "Y' could 'a died if that bullet—"

"But I didn't.  Hell, Vin, given what that little girl looked like…  I would've done the same thing you did."

Vin's pale blue eyes rounded slightly.

"There's no way I could've let that _bastard_ get away."

Chris' words eased some of his guilt, but not all of it.  Vin smiled his thanks, but then his expression turned serious again.  "Ezra—"

"Is doing just fine," Standish finished as he walked in to join the two men, the rest of the team trailing behind him.

"Hope you boys don't mind," Buck said, grinning.  "We knocked, but no one heard, so we let ourselves in."

Larabee nodded that it was all right and the men immediately began raiding his kitchen.  JD and Nathan started setting out the bagels they had picked up at Mo's on the way over to Larabee's for a day of poker and football.

"How's your wrist?" Vin asked Standish, noting that the bruise had covered most of one side of the man's face and had reached the ugly green and yellow stage.

"It feels considerably better," was the immediate reply.  "In fact, I believe I'll be permitted to remove the brace in a day or two."

Vin nodded, but he still looked like a little boy who had just broken his mother's favorite vase.

Walking to the Mr. Coffee machine, Josiah poured himself a cup, then carried it back to the table and sat down with them.  He glanced at Vin and said, "I was going through the mail that's stacking up on your desk on Friday afternoon, and I noticed a letter from the Department of Motor Vehicles."

Vin rolled his eyes and groaned, "Ah hell, I forgot about that."

"You also forgot about sending in the renewal for your CPR and first aid certification, too," Nathan added, his expression apologetic for having to bring it up.  He knew how rattled Tanner had been lately.  "Alexis Dixon called Friday right before we left…"

Tanner groaned again, leaning over the table and resting his forehead on his folded arms.

"I'm afraid it gets worse," Ezra added, a touch of sympathy in his voice.  "Mr. Dutton also called on Friday.  He is demanding that you remove the weapon prototypes you were storing at the range.  He says he needs the space, post haste."

"An' I have t' testify Monday… at two," Tanner moaned pathetically, rolling his head back and forth on his arms.  "They're coming by the office at nine to go over some stuff."  A soft whimper came next.

Buck met Larabee's eyes and grinned, shaking his head.  "Junior, why don't you ever ask for help?"

Vin lifted his head, a pathetic hang-dog expression on his face.  "There ain't nothing—"

"Yes, we can," JD interrupted him.  "Me and Buck can drop by the DMV for you on Monday.  It's right on our way home."

"And Nathan and I can escort your renewal paperwork to Mrs. Dixon's waiting hand Monday afternoon," Josiah offered.  "She likes Nate.  She'll listen to him when he tells her how busy it's been."

"I'm meeting Travis for lunch on Monday," Chris added.  He glanced at the undercover man.  "Ezra can swing by the range after he drops me off and pick up the prototypes."

"But your leg," Vin argued.  "Y' can't drive back to the office."

"Travis will drive me back," Larabee replied.  "Besides, the Ram's an automatic.  I can drive if I have to, or Ezra can pick me up after he's finished at the range."

"Reduced to chauffeur and errand boy, what has my career come to?" Ezra muttered under his breath, making the men grin.

Vin glanced at his friends.  They were going to help him out, whether he wanted them to or not.  And he wanted them to.  Hell, he needed them to.  He hadn't been good for much this past week, and he had to get back on track.  He sighed, giving in as gracefully as he could manage.  "All right," he said on a heavy sigh, then met Larabee's eyes.  "But y' take it easy, all right?"

"You worry too much," Chris scolded him.  "Just make sure you're ready for court."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday**

A little after one o'clock, Vin stood in the offices of Team Seven, nervously straightening his tie while JD arranged the paperwork for their various trips on Vin's behalf.  Tanner tugged and pulled, yanked, then pulled the knot out and started all over again.  On the third try he was finally satisfied.

Tugging down his suit jacket, he turned to Ezra.  "This look all right?"

Ezra looked up from the paperwork he was working on and grinned.  "You appear to have mastered the basics of a civilized wardrobe."

Vin peered at the man, looking for any signs he'd just been insulted.  "Y' sure?"

"Very sure," Standish told him, then went back to his paperwork.

"Thanks," Vin said, running a hand over his hair and then tugging at his tie again.

"Looking pretty slick there, Junior," Buck said, maneuvering around desks and chairs to join his friend.  "Knock 'em dead in court."

Vin grinned.  "Should 'a just shot 'em when I had the chance, would've saved me a lot 'a time," he said, only half in jest.

"Okay," JD cut in, "I'm just double-checking, to make sure I have everything.  I have the plates off the Jeep, the registration receipt, your current registration, and your driver's license.  Oh, and the power of attorney for this.  Do you think they might need anything else?"

Vin shook his head.  "Ain't anything else, JD.  Can't believe they want t' recall m' personal plates.  I've had 'em for years!  Whoever this asshole is, he's the one who's gotta come up with a new one.  These are mine, JD.  Y' make sure y' don't let 'em take 'em away from me, understand?"

JD nodded as he handed Nathan several sheets tucked into the second file folder.  "That's Vin's paperwork on the CPR and first aid classes."

"Great," Jackson said, accepting the proffered file.  He turned to Tanner.  "You want me to run you over to the courthouse?"

"Why?" the sniper asked, confused.

Josiah grinned indulgently.  "The Jeep won't have any plates, and you won't have a driver's license.  If you get stopped—"

Vin dismissed the older man's concern with a wave of his hand.  "It ain't that far and I'll be careful."

"Okay," Nathan said, but his tone was dubious.  "I still think you should take a cab or something."

"A cab?" Vin echoed.  "Y' know how much that'd cost?"

Nathan shrugged.  "Just be careful, okay?"

"I will.  And guys?"  He waited until he was sure they were all paying attention, even Ezra.  "I really appreciate this."

JD smiled.  "It's all right, Vin.  I mean, we're partners, friends, right?  That's what—"

"You can take us out to lunch at Chad's if you want to say thank you good and proper," Buck said, interrupting JD.

"I'll do that," Tanner agreed with a thankful grin.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Walking to his Jeep, Vin's mind drifted to his upcoming testimony.  It should be pretty straightforward, but he knew he had a tendency to let defense attorneys get under his skin.  He couldn't let that happen this time.  The accused was a local thug who was trying to claim Vin had assaulted _him_ when the agent had stopped him from selling stolen guns to students at a high school in Purgatorio.  Vin shook his head, anticipating the questions he would face.

It was _not_ going to be a good day.

Anger bubbled to the surface.  It wouldn't be so bad if they knew who Deevers worked for, but the little punk refused to say.  He was convinced his boss would get him off.

 _Ain't gonna happen_ , Vin decided.  _I'm gonna stay cool 'n' that little sunuvabitch is goin' t' prison_.  _Those kids have got enough t' worry 'bout without half the damn student body walkin' around armed with Deever's guns._

Lost in thought, the agent ignored the distinct clack-and-rattle sound of an approaching skateboard.  During the day, kids used the usually empty area of the garage where the services vehicles parked for the night to practice their moves.

When Tanner was hit in the shoulder, he jumped back, yelling, "Hey, watch where you're goin'!"

The teenager on the board ignored him, speeding away, his leg pumping.

Tanner took three more steps toward the Jeep before he noticed something was wrong.  His hand automatically reached back for his ID, but it was long gone.

"Damn it!" he hissed.  Didn't that kid know the mountain of paperwork he'd have to fill out to get his ID replaced?  He checked his watch.  There was no time to worry about it now; if he didn't leave, he'd be late for court.

He took a moment to memorize the kid's description:  about five-foot-six, 120 pounds, long, sandy blond hair, so-so tan, mismatched high-tops shoes, and shabby clothes that were a mix of army green and bright tie-dye.

 _Probably a street kid_ , he decided, shaking his head.  They were seeing more and more runaways hanging out downtown, and they tended to pick up skateboards as a mode of transportation.  "Rainbow children" they called themselves.  Most were under sixteen, skinny, dirty, their eyes a disturbing mix of apprehension and defiance.

He sighed, wishing he didn't have to report the incident, but he didn't have a choice.  Reaching his Jeep, Vin climbed in and checked his watch again.  He started the engine and headed for the quickest route that would take him to the Lakewood courthouse.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Behind the wheel of his beloved Jeep, Vin's anger dimmed, replaced by a steely determination that his testimony would put Larry "The Bug" Deevers behind bars where he belonged.

 _Then we're goin' after your boss_ , he promised the absent thug.  _An' we'll find him, sooner or later_.  _No way 'm gonna let some assholes like you take over my neighborhood – no way, no how._

Vin's thoughts continued to wander during the drive to the courthouse, from Deevers, to the rainbow kid who lifted his ID, to Carroll and, finally, to what he really didn't want to think about:  Chris.  The guilt began nibbling at the edges of his thoughts, slowly taking larger and larger bites out of his attention.

He sighed heavily and shook his head.  "Too close, Cowboy," he said softly.  "Too damn close."

The image of his best friend going down flashed through Vin's mind and he cringed.  He had taken Carroll down before the man could kill Larabee, but it had been close.  A second or two more and there would have been a funeral.  But he still wasn't sure how that had happened.  He'd seen Carroll headed away from Larabee, away from the scene, which was why he'd gone after the man.  And then he'd heard Buck's call on the radio.  He'd cut back, moving through the old apartment building.  Which was where he'd found the body…  That had slowed him down.  Then he'd heard the shot, and bolted forward, stepping into that room just in time to pull the trigger on Carroll, who was about to shoot Chris a second time.

A cold chill snaked down Vin's back and settled deep in his gut.  _Why do we do it?_ he asked himself.  _The rush?  The thrill?_

He rejected the idea.  _What we do is important_.

But it was also dangerous.  And dirty.  They saw some of the worst humankind had to offer of itself.  C _an't help gettin' a little stained_ , he thought.  _Y' end up thinkin' like the bad guys t' catch the bad guys_.

 _Y' get numb…  Hell, maybe 'm just feelin' a little burned out_.

But no matter what the explanation was, he was definitely still feeling guilty about what had happened to Chris and to Ezra.  He smiled thinly; their willingness to forgive and forget also kindled a warm glow in his chest.  They were good friends.  If they could forgive him, maybe he'd eventually be able to forgive himself.

 _An' the next time I'll stay up top_.  If he had, he would have seen the confrontation between Carroll and Larabee, and he would have dropped the man before he'd been able to shoot Chris.

_M' friends are too few 'n' too far between t' put 'em at risk.  I was stupid.  Stupid, stupid, stupid.  An' it ain't gonna happen again.  'M not gonna get any of 'em killed…  Couldn't live with that._

A flash of bright blue cut along Vin's peripheral vision a moment before he felt a glancing but hard impact along the right side of the Jeep.  The vehicle jerked and bounced, Vin's head snapping forward and back, as his right front wheel popped off the pavement, then bounced back down.  The Jeep groaned as the suspension twisted.

The car struck him again, and Vin bucked forward, his shoulder- and seat-belts holding him in place as the steering wheel was nearly yanked out of his hands.  The Jeep skidded sideways, inching closer to the cement median that separated him from the lanes of oncoming traffic.

"What the hell're y' doin'!" he yelled at the driver, but his attention was on getting the Jeep back under control.

Before Vin could pull the Jeep back off the shoulder and into his lane, the blue car struck again.

Vin felt the Jeep's left fender slam into the cement barrier, the impact whipping the vehicle's rear end around.  The torque threw him forward, his head impacting solidly against the windshield.  The last thing he heard was the squeal of brakes before everything went dark and silent.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Holy shit!" Callie Brin squeaked, jerking her wheel and stomping on her brake to avoid colliding with the bright blue Mustang as it sideswiped the Jeep, then darted across her lane and away.

The car behind her honked, then sped around her, not having seen what had just happened.  "Asshole!" she yelled at the driver.

Braking to a stop in the far left shoulder lane, Callie backed up, stopping just in front of the Jeep.  Climbing out of her car, she darted to the vehicle.

Seeing all the blood on Vin's face, she paled as she stumbled to a stop.  "Oh God," she breathed, bolting back to her Honda and grabbing her cell phone out of her purse.  She called for help.

With the state patrol and an ambulance summoned, she returned to the Jeep, trying to remember the details from the first aid class she had taken during high school.

"Ohh," she groaned, "what good was taking the class if I can't remember anything?"

 _You just wanted to be a life guard so you could hang around with Robbie Stevens_ , she chided herself.

She rolled her eyes.  Then her gaze raked over the interior of the Jeep, looking for something she could use as a bandage.  Finding nothing, and not knowing what else to do, she pulled off the well-worn flannel shirt she was wearing over her T-shirt and used that to apply pressure to the bleeding gash on the man's scalp.

With trembling fingers, she sought a pulse on the man's neck while making sure that she didn't move his neck.

She found a beat, but couldn't tell if it was weak or strong.  It was, however, very fast.

"Just don't die, okay?" Callie begged the unconscious man as she continued scanning the traffic for the patrolmen.  Drivers and passengers slowed down, staring at her as they passed.

"Thanks for all your help!" she yelled at two young men who pointed and laughed as they rolled by.  "Assholes," she grumbled.

The sudden _whoop_ of a siren reached her ears and she sighed in relief.  A couple of minutes later, two state patrol cars pulled up and parked behind the Jeep, the officers immediately heading for her and the injured man.

"I called for an ambulance," the younger of the two officers said when he reached her.  "But they're already on the way."

"I called them when I called you," Callie said.

"You know this guy?" the older officer asked, already examining the Jeep.

Callie shook her head and then had to reach up and tuck her loose, dark auburn hair behind her ears.  "I saw the accident happen.  There was this blue car, a Mustang, I think.  It hit him and he crashed into the median."

The two officers immediately went to work, the younger man working with Callie on Vin, the older man beginning to take notes and make sketches.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Callie stood by her car, watching while the ambulance attendants prepared to load Vin into the back of their vehicle.  The older highway patrol officer was with the medics, the other one was headed her way.

The young man smiled at her.  "Uh, Miss—?"

"Brin.  Callie Brin," she said, still watching the medics working on Vin.

"Miss Brin," the officer said, "I need to get a statement from you."

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked, nodding in the direction of the ambulance.

"I don't know, but they seem to think so."  He reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly.  "Good thing you stopped and called for help, though."

Callie looked from the man on the gurney to the officer.  She smiled thinly.  "I guess so.  I just hope he's okay."

"Uh, Miss Brin," the officer said again, "did you see any papers, or a wallet maybe, when you walked up to the car?"

She looked confused.  "No," she said, shaking her head.  "I was looking for something I could use to stop the bleeding.  I didn't see anything."

"Okay," the officer said, his tone slightly dubious.  "Can you tell me everything you saw, from the beginning?"

She nodded and started talking, explaining the bright blue Mustang's multiple attacks on the Jeep, the older car's eventual collision with the cement barrier, and her own near accident as she tried to avoid the fleeing attacker.

"I stopped.  I saw he was bleeding, and I ran back and got my cell phone and called for help," she said.  "Then I went back and looked for something to stop the bleeding.  I ended up using my shirt.  Then you got here."

"That's it?"

She nodded.

"Did you happen to see the license plate on the Mustang?"

"No," she said apologetically, "I wasn't even looking for it.  I was just trying not to get hit."

The officer nodded.  "Okay, I have your phone number and address.  We'll need to ask you to look over this report when it's done and sign it."

"Sure, no problem," she said.

The young man smiled.  "And you're sure there was no ID?  We couldn't find anything to tell us who he is."

She shook her head.  "I didn't look, but I didn't see anything like that."

"Okay," the officer said.  "You're free to go, Miss."

"Where will they take him?" she asked as the ambulance pulled into traffic, siren wailing.

The patrolman waited until the sound faded before he answered, "Denver General," he said.  "You going to drop by?"

She nodded.  "After work.  I want to know if he's okay."

"I'm sure he'll be happy to meet the beautiful young lady who saved his life."

She blushed and dipped her head, feeling her cheeks go rosy.  "Thanks."

He grinned.  "No problem."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"What do we have?" the ER doctor asked when the two paramedics rolled Vin into a treatment room and transferred him to a waiting treatment table.

"Car accident, got a head trauma.  His Glasgow's eight," one of the medics related.  "BP's one-sixty over a hundred, pulse is ninety-four.  Pupils are equal and responsive, no lateralizing symptoms, but he's been out cold about twenty or thirty minutes."

"Get set up for a skull series and x-rays," the physician called out.

"I've got it," someone replied.

In the room several nurses took over, working around Vin while the doctor began irrigating the agent's scalp laceration with a large dose of normal saline solution.  With the majority of blood removed, he examined the wound with his gloved finger, looking and feeling for a fracture.  He found one.

"Definitely need that x-ray," he said.  "And set up a CT scan."  He looked back at the remaining paramedic.  "Any med alerts?" the young Hispanic man asked.

"Not that we know of," the medic replied.  "There was no ID."

The doctor looked up, his dark-brown eyes curious.  "Nothing?"

The medic shook his head.  "He's a John Doe, Doc."

" _Madre de Dios_ , just wonderful.  Nurse, suture his scalp closed and get me that x-ray A-S-A-P."

"Yes, Doctor," one of the nurses replied as the Latino physician moved to examine Vin, rechecking his Glasgow scale and probing for any other possible injuries.

A short while later another nurse handed the man an x-ray film.  Walking to the view box, he shoved the film into place and turned on the light.  A short, fine, dark line snaked through the whiteness of the surrounding bone.

"Simple linear skull fracture, but it's close enough to the temporal bone to worry me," he stated.  "Let's get him admitted on a seventy-two hour hold, just in case, and call Doctor Trang for a neurological consult."

His patient stable, Dr. Randy Ortiz exited the treatment room only to find a Highway Patrol officer waiting for him in the hallway.

"Doctor," the man greeted.  "You working on the John Doe?"

Ortiz nodded.

"How is he?"

"I think he'll be okay.  He has a skull fracture, but I'm thinking mild concussion.  We have a few more tests to run, and I've called in a neurologist.  We're going to have to monitor him for a while before we're sure he's out of danger."

"Listen, Doc, I think we might be dealing with a felon here."

Ortiz's eyes widened.  "A felon?"

The officer nodded.  "No plates, no registration, and he wasn't carrying any ID either.  Sounds suspicious, don't you think?"

"I suppose it does.  The paramedic told me he had no identification," the physician said.  He looked down at the chart he'd been handed on his way out of the treatment room.  "We have him listed as John Doe number thirty-one."

"Until we get this worked out, we'd like him admitted to a secure ward.  I'll see to it he's guarded until then.  We don't know if he's dangerous."

The doctor nodded.  "I'll see to it.  But he's not going to be much of a threat to anyone for a while."

"Appreciate the cooperation, Doctor," the patrolman said.  "These days, you can't be too careful."

"I understand."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

In the treatment room Vin moaned softly, the sound vibrating through his body like fingernails scratching across sandpaper.  He forced his eyes open with a shudder.

He was cold… and his head hurt – bad.

He swallowed.  _Nauseous, too_ , he realized.  _What the hell happened?_

Looking around the room, he blinked rapidly, trying to clear the foggy veil that blurred his vision.

"Sir?  Sir, are you awake?"

The voice was tinny and sounded far away.  Vin frowned, his head beginning to pound like storm-blown shutters against a wall.  He swallowed again, feeling more sick to his stomach.

"Sir?"

He turned his head, seeking out the source of the voice.  Maybe it held answers to the questions that flooded his mind, most of them getting lost in the pain and confusion.

"Sir, can you hear me?"

Vin carefully continued to roll his head toward the voice.  When he found the source, he asked thickly, "Where 'm I?" as he watched the woman's face contort like it was made of soft rubber.

"You're in the hospital," she said.  "You were in a car accident.  Do you remember?"

"No," Vin said, swallowing again.  The press of bile surged slowly up his throat.  "Feel sick."

She grabbed a kidney bowl, just in case.  "What's your name?"

Vin thought for a moment, but nothing surfaced.  "I— I don't know."  He felt a wave of panic surge through his body, leaving him weak and trembling.

The woman, _a nurse_ , he realized, reached out, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.  "That's okay.  You hit your head.  Don't worry, you'll remember in a little while."

"What's m' name?" he demanded, fear pushing back the nausea for the moment.

"I don't know," the nurse admitted.  "The paramedics didn't find any identification.  Now, listen, I want you to lie still; I'll get the doctor.  And don't worry, you're going to be just fine."

Vin closed his eyes, fear prickling his skin.  _Who am I?_ he demanded, but a damning silence, backed by pain, was the only answer.

Despite the nurse's orders, he tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness swept over him, forcing him to lie back down.  His fingers curled around the edges of the gurney and he groaned.  _Who am I?_ he demanded again.

Voices drifted in from behind the closed door and he looked, hoping whoever was out there had an answer for him.  For a brief moment he felt as if he were falling into a bottomless well, dread and loneliness swallowing him whole.  _Who?  Who?  Who?_ he chanted silently with the throbbing inside his head.

Vin's breath caught, a stab of pain shooting from temple to temple like a spear was penetrating his skull.  His stomach rebelled, bile climbing up the back of his throat once again.  His mouth watering uncontrollably, he sucked in a deep breath and willed his stomach to settle as he swallowed convulsively.

He shivered, the icy cold creeping further into his bones and making them burn.   _Who, damn it?_ he cried silently.  _Answer me!_

But there were no answers forthcoming, so he closed his eyes again and tried to rein in the terror that sparked in his chest, making it hard to breathe.  Then, finally, he heard the door swung open.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"Dr. Ortiz," the nurse called as soon as she stepped outside the treatment room.

The physician turned.

"Mr. Doe's awake, but he has amnesia," she said.

"Amnesia?" the patrolman echoed.  "Terrific.  Could he be faking?"

"Maybe," Ortiz said, "but it's not uncommon for an accident victim to be confused, especially given the nature of the trauma this man sustained."

"But he's awake?" the officer asked.

The nurse nodded.

"Can I see him?"

Dr. Ortiz thought a moment and then nodded.  "But just for a moment," he cautioned, escorting the officer into the treatment room.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Vin forced his eyes open when he heard the door swing inward.  The first thing he noticed was the state patrolman.  Images of cells flashed through his mind and Vin felt his fear escalate another notch.  _'M I a criminal?_

"How are you feeling?" asked a young Hispanic man who was wearing a white lab coat.

"Head hurts…" Vin admitted.  "Feel sick."

"I'm Doctor Ortiz," the young man continued.  "And your name is…?"

"Don't know," was the immediate reply.  "What's wrong with me?  Why can't I remember?"

"You took a pretty nasty blow to the head," Ortiz explained.  "You have a skull fracture.  Do you remember the car accident?"

"No," Vin replied, his fear making his answers short and curt.

"What's the last thing you do remember?"

Vin searched his mind, but it was curiously empty.  "I— I don't know," he half-moaned.  "Can't remember nothin'.  I—"

"Okay, take it easy," the doctor said, reaching out to rest his hand lightly on Vin's arm.  "Don't try too hard; let whatever images there are surface naturally."

"There's ain't nothin'!" Vin declared, his voice rising.  "I told y', I don't know!"

"Easy," the man soothed again.  He looked at the nurse.  "See if you can find Doctor Trang for me."

She nodded and left.

"Do you know what city you're in?" Ortiz asked him.

Vin began to pant when he realized that he didn't.  His gaze darted around the room, searching for some clue.  "No," he said thickly.

The patrolman took a step closer and Vin immediately felt defensive.

"You were driving an old 1980s Jeep.  That ring any bells?"

"No," Vin said, looking back at the doctor.  "How long's this gonna last?"

"I'm not sure," the man admitted.  "But I want you to relax, okay?  Things should start filtering back pretty quickly."

Vin looked back at the officer.  "What's goin' on?  Why're y' here?"

The patrolman hesitated, then explained, "You weren't carrying any ID, and the car you cracked-up didn't have any plates, or registration."  At Vin's confused expression he asked, "Did you steal that car?"

"N-No," Vin replied, but he could hear the doubt clear in his voice.

"But you don't remember," the officer pressed.  "Right?"

"I don't remember, but—"

"I think this should wait until later," Dr. Ortiz interrupted.  "Mr. Doe needs to get some rest."

 _Doe?_ Vin echoed.  _John Doe?  Great, just great._

The patrolman headed for the door, but the doctor remained.  "We're going to get you moved into a room," he explained.  "Then a specialist will take a look.  He should be able to answer your questions."

"I doubt that," Vin grumbled, the pounding in his head escalating again.  _Did I steal a car?_ he asked himself.

More images assaulted him:  fast moving cars, being chased, sirens, the cells again.  _Ah hell…_ he groaned silently, squeezing his eyes shut.

He saw the doctor stop a nurse at the door.  There was an exchange of whispers, but Vin heard "psych evaluation" and "secure ward" mentioned.

 _Crazy?  'M not crazy!_ he argued silently with the physician. _'M_ not _crazy_.  _An' 'm not a thief either…  I think_.

He looked back at a nurse, who was arranging his IV for the move.  _I've gotta get out 'a here_.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Monday evening**

After work and their errands, the rest of Team Seven met back at Larabee's ranch, each man toting a bag of Chinese carryout.  They needed to discuss how they were going to go after Deever's boss.

The blond was the first to spot the police unit waiting for them in the driveway.

"I wonder what that's all about?" JD muttered, frowning as Buck pulled his car in behind Larabee's Ram and parked.  Chris was already headed for the cruiser, still moving slowly with his cane.

"Officer," Chris acknowledged as he reached the side of the car.

The officer climbed out, glancing down at Chris' leg for a moment, then said, "Okay, Hopalong, where's that hippy you call a sniper?"

The corners of Chris' eyes crinkled as he smiled.  "Hell, Doug, you know Tanner…  He's probably swinging from the rafters someplace."

The officer chuckled and grinned.  "Probably is.  But he missed his court appearance today, and Judge Morris isn't too happy about it."

"What?" Chris said, his expression going stony.  "Vin didn't make it to court?"

"Nope," Officer Doug Newman said.  "Deever walked."

Chris met Buck's concerned gaze, then looked back at Newman.  "Look, Doug, Vin left for the courthouse with plenty of time," he said.  "If he didn't get there, then something's happened to him."

The officer looked concerned.  "Judge Morris wanted me to let him know he wants to see him A-S-A-P.  He cost the DA the case, and—"  He shook his head.  "Let's just say there are a few folks who are a little pissed with him at the moment."

"I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for Mr. Tanner's absence," Ezra said, frowning.  He looked as concerned about the news as the rest of the team did.

"Well, maybe you can give the DA a call, huh?" Doug suggested.  "Smooth some ruffled feathers?"

"I'll do that," Chris said.

As soon as the officer had climbed back into his car and pulled out, Larabee turned to the others.  "Something must've happened," he said, worry making his voice tight.

Chris headed straight into the house as quickly as his injured leg would allow. Dropping the bag of food he carried on the coffee table, he headed straight to his in home office and the computer.

Turning it on, he checked his work and personal e-mail for a message from Vin.  There was nothing.  "JD!" he bellowed.

The younger man appeared in the doorway.  "Yeah, Chris?"

"Start looking for Vin."

JD hesitated for a moment, a little confused.  "Where should I start?"

"The usual, JD," Chris said softly.  "Hospitals, police…"

Dunne nodded and sat down to take Larabee's place, his fingers tapping across the keys at top speed.

After a few minutes the hyper tapping noise was driving the blond crazy.  Luckily for JD, Buck had come in to wait as well, and the ladies' man recognized Chris was nearing a melt down.  "Hey, stud, we're all hungry," he said to Larabee.  "Let's go grab something, let JD concentrate."

JD shot the man a grateful look, his fingers never taking a pause.

Larabee hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded.

"I'll fix you a plate and bring it to you," Wilmington told JD as he followed Chris out.

"Thanks.  I'm hungry, and this might take a while."

The ladies' man nodded, following his long time friend to the kitchen where they each grabbed a plate and dished up some of the food.  They headed back to the living room where the others had gathered, Buck detouring just long enough to drop off JD dinner.  Someone had turned the television on, the local news playing silently in the background, just in case.

Josiah and Nathan were both on their cell phones.  Ezra was working on his laptop.

His leg aching more with each step he took, Chris carried his plate over to his recliner and sat down.  Laying his cane on the floor next to the chair, he asked, "Anything?"

"Hold on," Nathan said to whomever he was speaking to, then related, "Security has Vin leaving the federal building at 1:37 p.m.  Cameras have him pulling out of the parking garage at 1:42.  He was alone."

Larabee nodded.  That sounded normal.

"No messages at the office, or on his answering machine," Josiah added.  "And he's not picking up his cell phone."

"He didn't take it," Chris said.  "It's in his desk at work.  Judge Morris gives community service to anyone who has a cell phone go off in his court."

"I checked our current cases," Ezra added, "and, as far as I can tell, there are no recent releases we need to be concerned with."

"Past cases?" Larabee asked him.

The undercover man offered an apologetic shrug.  "It's going to take some time to determine that."

 _Damn it, Vin_ , Chris thought as he took a bite of the Mongolian beef, _where the hell are you?_   He ran through the possible enemies who might have struck:  Deever's boss, someone acting on Carroll's behalf, whoever it was who had sent he and Ezra to the Woverton Penal Facility along with Vin,[2] or any number of others.  The possibilities were alarming.

 _Damn, damn, damn_ , he thought.  _Call, Vin.  Do something_.

He paused as he raised a second bite to his mouth, remembering his Sunday morning conversation with the missing man.  Green eyes narrowed dangerously.  _Vin, if you're holed up someplace, feeling guilty, I'm going to personally kick your butt all the way up the nearest fourteener._   He sighed.  No, that wouldn't have stopped the man from testifying.

"You need your pain pills?" Nathan asked him.

Chris shook his head.  "It's gonna be a long night.  I need to keep my head clear."   _Come on, Vin, call, damn it_.  _Where are you?_   There was no answer to the question, but the dull, constant buzz in his gut was telling Larabee his friend was in trouble.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Almost four hours later, Chris eased down into a chair in his home office.  JD was still hunched over the keyboard, grumbling.

"Find anything?" the blond asked hopefully.

"No," Dunne admitted, looking up.  "I've checked the morgues, jails, hospitals—"

"Morgues?" Chris interrupted, his face going pale.

JD dipped his head.  "I'm sorry, I just thought…"  He trailed off, shaking his head.

Chris took a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh.  "No, JD, you're right.  We had to check."

The man's expression brightened slightly.  "But there was nothing, not even a John Doe."

"And nothing in any jails or the hospitals?"

JD shook his head, but then added, "Well, there _are_ seven John Doe's that match Vin's general description either in jail or in the hospital.  I'm following up with those right now, but some of the data hasn't been added to the databases yet, so it might take a while to run them all down."

"Stick with it," Chris told him.  "You want some coffee?"

He shook his head.  "Too much caffeine already, but a glass of milk would be nice."

"I'll get it," Larabee said, turning.

"No, Chris, you should be off that leg."

"I'm fine," he assured the younger man, his tone a warning not to press the issue.

"No luck with the calls?" JD asked before the man could leave.

"Nothing.  We called everyone we could think of," he replied, his voice turning slightly rough.  "No one's seen him."

"We'll find him."

The blond nodded, then turned, limping out on his way to get the milk.

"Chris!" JD called excitedly, stopping Larabee three steps beyond the door.

Backtracking, the blond re-entered the room, his expression and posture hopeful.  "You found him?"

"No, but I thought I should start looking for the Jeep, too.  And I think I've found that, in an impound yard, in… Lakewood.  I mean, it _might_ be Vin's Jeep.  Fits the description, and with the route he probably took from here to the courthouse."

Chris nodded.  "Let's go see."

"It's after nine o'clock, Chris," Dunne reminded him.  "There won't be anyone there."

The blond stopped on his way to the door.  "Nine?"  Where had the time gone?

"What's going on?" Buck asked, coming to a stop next to Larabee.

"JD thinks he might have found Vin's Jeep," Chris supplied.

"Where?" the ladies' man asked.

"Police impound lot in Lakewood," JD answered.  "It's closed now, but we can head over first thing in the morning," he suggested.

Chris looked like he wanted to argue but, after a moment, he nodded.  "First thing in the morning."

"I'll tell the others," Buck said, adding, "Why don't you go get some sleep, stud?  You're not gonna help Vin any if you make yourself sick."

The blond shot his friend a hot glare, but it quickly fizzled out.  He nodded.  "Come get me if you find anything."

"We will," JD said.

Wilmington watched the man limping off, knowing he was going to have to keep a close eye on the blond or Chris would end up right back into the hospital.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Earlier that night**

Vin stumbled to a stop in the shadows of a nearly empty alley.  Dizzy, his head pounding, he slowly fumbled his way to the first dumpster he saw, sinking down behind it and hoping he was hidden from sight.  Taking several deep breaths, he tried to keep from getting sick, but his stomach was too upset to be denied and he leaned forward, heaving onto the dirty pavement.

Every contraction of his stomach set off explosions of agony inside his head, some of which nearly swamped his tenuous consciousness.

When the heaves finally stopped, he crawled to the next dumpster and curled into the space between the container and the dirty building wall behind it.  A soft whimper escaped his still-burning throat as the pain inside his skull reached a crescendo, forcing tears past his closed eyelids.  He pulled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his forehead on his knees, rocking slightly front to back, as soft whines escaped his throat.

When the pain finally subsided, he was able to uncurl, his abused muscles protesting every movement.  Fear caught in his throat, making it almost impossible to breathe.  He didn't know where he was, or how he had gotten there.  He didn't even know _who_ he was.

Then a collection of memories returned in a rush:  hospital… Dr. Ortiz… the police.

A nurse had been going to move him to a room in some kind of prison ward or something.  He could just imagine the room, too – small, cramped, with bars on the windows.  There was already an officer standing out in the hall to make sure he didn't escape.

Then he had heard something about handcuffs.

But she'd had to take him someplace else first, before the room.  A CT scan, he thought he'd heard them call it.

An Asian man had spoken to him somewhere along the way, but the conversation was a blur.  All he could think about was the room with the barred windows, and the officer.  Trapped; he was going to be trapped.

So, when the Asian had left to get the nurse, Vin had pulled out his IV and staggered to a small closet where he'd seen a nurse hang up a lab coat.  But there was nothing else there.  Returning to the gurney they had wheeled him in on, he spotted a plastic bag, resting on the bars at the bottom.

He had opened that bag, finding his clothes inside.  He left the bloody suit jacket and tie in the bag.  The shirt he pulled on was only slightly stained.  But, looking down at himself now, he found both his pants and his shirt were smudged and grimy.

Another explosion of pain in his head forced him to press back against the wall where he ground his teeth and rode it out.

 _How'd I get here?_ he wondered.  _Where am I?_

Concentrating was almost impossible, but he squeezed his eyes shut and forced his thoughts free of the burning agony inside his skull.

Once he had dressed, he had somehow made it into the hallway, into another room, and then through a open window.  He had fallen into the landscaping outside the hospital, cutting the palms of his hands on something, but he had ignored it.  He had to get away.  He couldn't let them cage him.

He had staggered along the side of the hospital building, using the wall to steady himself, until he'd seen a delivery truck.  The driver was standing not too far away, smoking a cigarette and talking to a young woman wearing green scrubs.

Vin crossed to the truck and waited until the man dropped his cigarette butt and ground it out with the toe of his shoe.  When he turned and started to cross back to the truck, Vin had opened the back door and climbed inside the vehicle, closing the door before the man noticed anything was amiss.

He couldn't remember where he'd finally gotten out of the delivery truck.  But he had, at a red light.  Then he'd walked, and walked, and walked, trying to remember where he was, and who he was, but neither question had been answered, and it didn't appear they would be any time soon.

Now, sitting in the dark, rank alley, his head trying to crack itself open from the inside out, he allowed himself to cry.

 _What's happening t' me?_ he pleaded with himself.  _Why can't I remember?_

Knife-like thrusts of torment continued to rip through his head, bringing with them more disturbing images of guns… a sniper's scope… a target, going down… being interrogated by cops…  a prison of some kind…

_I've gotta be a crook… a thief or something.  Must've stolen that Jeep and cracked it up…_

But that didn't feel right.  He didn't feel like a bad person.

He snorted derisively.  _Oh, man, a crook with a freakin' conscience_.

More images assailed him:  shooting… men falling… leaping across the open space between rooftops…

 _Oh shit, I_ kill _people_ , he silently choked.  _What the hell am I?_

Vin closed his eyes again.  _Who am I?  Who the hell am I?_ he pleaded silently, but there were still no answers.

With an effort, he managed to struggle to his feet.  He eased around the end of the dumpster, and checked the space.  It was empty, so he continued down the alley.

It was dark.  He needed to find someplace safe to hole up until he could figure out what was going on.

He paused where the alley intersected another street.  Peering out at the neighborhood that lay beyond, he knew he wasn't even close to someplace he could call "safe."  The neighborhood was dirty and rundown, most of the street lights apparently shot out to give the drug dealers the shadows they needed to operate in.  Definitely not the kind of place a normal person would want to be, but he wasn't a normal person, he was…  _What?_

 _A killer,_ he answered himself.  And in his gut he knew it was true.  He had killed people.

 _Why?_ he wanted to know, but the answer remained as elusive as his name.

"Well, well, well, look who's back in the neighborhood," a smooth voice taunted him.

Vin turned, too quickly, and staggered back to sag against the wall of the alley as waves of vertigo nearly swept him off his feet.  Pressing back against the graffiti-covered concrete, he stared at the man who had spoken to him.

 _Pimp_ , he recognized, and felt the short hairs at the back of his neck rise.  White suit, open green silk shirt, white fedora, several thick gold chains draped around his neck; an oily throwback to the age of disco, but Vin's gut told him the man was more dangerous than he looked.

"Who are ya?" he demanded.

"Everyone around here calls me the Reverend," the man replied with a sinister smile.  His dark eyes remained cold, calculating.

"You— Y' know me?" Vin asked him, his gaze sweeping over the man, looking for any potential weapons.

"Oh, I know you, yes, that's true," the man replied, his tone almost sing-song in nature.  His eyes narrowed like a predator, sizing up its prey.  His gaze took in Vin's dirty clothes and the bandage on his head.

"Who am I?" Vin demanded.

The Reverend grinned, starting to enjoy the encounter.  "Now that's a very good question, friend."

Grabbing the man's snowy lapels, Vin swung the Reverend around and shoved him up against the wall – hard.  But the motion and the impact caused the pain in the sniper's head to flair again and he grimaced, his knees starting to go weak.

"Take it easy, friend.  I'm not going to hurt you.  In fact, I owe you a favor," he said, watching Vin fight to remain on his feet, his grip losing all its strength.  The Reverend broke free.

Vin took a step back, one hand coming up to cradle the side of his head though the bandage.  "A favor?"

The man nodded, a dangerous smile curling his lips off his smoke-stained teeth.  "You made me the number one man in this neighborhood.  And for that I'm… grateful."

"How'd I do that?" Vin asked, not believing a word the man was saying.  He didn't hang around with lowlife like this.  Did he?

"You're the man who took down Eddie Flesh."

The name felt familiar, and Vin's thoughts tumbled after the feeling, searching out a memory.  He found it:  a gunfight, a large black enforcer, a Latino pimp, a knife…[3]

When Vin finally blinked and looked around the alley the Reverend was gone.

_You're the man who took down Eddie Flesh …_

_Who am I?_ Vin pleaded with himself.

 _A killer_ , some part of his mind replied.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The Reverend sat in the Top Hat Lounge, sipping on a glass of white wine and pondering the vagaries of fate.  He looked up when the door opened and another man entered the dimly lit room and took a seat at the bar, reinforcing the Reverend's faith in kismet.

Picking up his glass, the Reverend walked over and sat down next to his biggest rival, Robert "Dickie" Ward.

"Reverend," the handsome, bald black man said without looking at the pimp.

The bartender set a glass of beer in front of Ward and moved off, not wanting to get involved with the business of the two men.

"D," the pimp replied.  "How's tricks?"

"Just fine," the man half-growled, not amused by the pun.  "Why do you ask? Thinkin' about taking me up on my offer and selling out?"

The Reverend laughed.  "Hardly," he said.  "Just curious."

"Well, I'm doing fine, just fine, thank you very much.  Now, go away."

"With Eddie gone we're all doing fine," the Reverend continued with a soft chuckle.  "God rest his twisted, greedy soul."

Dickie chuckled, then took a sip of his beer.  "Yep, all us little fishes are swimmin' in a happy little pond."

"'Til one of us becomes another big fish," the Reverend acknowledged, his tone a vague threat.

The man's eyes narrowed.  "Why the trip down memory lane, Rev?" Ward asked, wishing the other pimp would take a hike.

"Ran into the man who did us all the favor, that's all.  It left me in a… nostalgic mood."

"We talkin' about… Tanner?" Ward asked.

"Mmm," the Reverend replied, nodding.  He worked on his own drink, but watched Dickie in his peripheral vision.

Ward's eyes narrowed.  "You saw Tanner?"

"I just told you, didn't I?"

"You find him again, you let me know," Ward growled, his voice cold and hard.  He meant business.

The Reverend's eyes widened.  "Oh?"  He could smell money in the man's interest, money that might just line _his_ pockets if he played his cards right.

"Hear there's someone who's willin' to pay some serious cash for the man."

"And who would that be?"

Dickie chuckled again.  "No way, Rev.  You find him, you give me a call.  We'll work out a deal."

The Reverend took another sip of his wine and then tapped his glass against Ward's.  "I might just do that."  Then, draining what was left of his wine, he set the empty glass on the bar and, with a tip of his hat, left, wondering how a man like Dickie Ward, who was known for his ability to provide "unusual" merchandise to his johns, could be connected to anyone who might want Tanner's head on a platter.  He shook his head and grinned.  It didn't matter.  If there was money to be made in it, that was all that concerned him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

With nowhere to go, Vin finally slipped into one of the many strip joints just off Lincoln Avenue.  The music was too loud and the lights too bright for his still-pounding head, but he was able to find a small table in a dark corner on the second level where both were tolerable.

Sliding his chair back into the corner, he leaned his head back against the V of the two walls and closed his eyes.  His headache was getting worse, the dizziness and pain almost unbearable sometimes.  He knew he should be in the hospital, but that was a one-way ticket to jail, if the cop he had seen there was any indication.

No, he needed to be out here, looking for who he was, and what was going on.

"Can I get you something?"

Vin opened his eyes and stared up at a young woman standing in front of his table.  She looked too young to be working in a place like this, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her about it.  He had plenty of his own problems at the moment.

"Uh, can I get you something?" she asked him again.

His stomach growled and, reaching around to his back pocket, Vin found it empty.  He fished into both of his front pockets, finding a ten dollar bill and thirty-seven cents in change.

"You serve food?" he asked her.

"Just peanuts, pretzels and popcorn," she said, studying him more carefully.  "Hey, are you okay?"

Vin shrugged.  "M' head hurts."

"Look, why don't I get you a beer and some stuff to munch on, okay?"

Vin nodded and handed her the money.  "'M really hungry," he repeated absently.

"I'll see what I can do," she promised, tucking the money into her pocket.

When she left, Vin closed his eyes again, ignoring the top-less dancers performing on a small stage a floor below him.  A handful of hooting, ogling men cheered them on, waving dollar bills.

More images flashed through his mind:  riding a big black horse up into the mountains… gunfire… a fist fight… an explosion…

The stream of images picked up speed, tumbling into his mind one after another, most of them violent, none of them telling him what he wanted to know:  who he was, and how'd he'd gotten hurt.

He wasn't sure how long the barrage lasted, but the images shattered like a bullet-struck windshield when someone said, "Here you go."

He jerked and opened his eyes again.  The waitress was back, her short blonde hair reminding him of someone, but who, exactly, remained a mystery.  Her green eyes also seemed familiar, and he struggled to call up a face, or a name, to match with the feeling.

The girl set a beer in front of him, along with two small baskets, one filled with popcorn, the other with pretzels.  Then she handed him a plastic container full of steaming spaghetti.

"Where'd this come from?" Vin asked her, confused.

"My dinner," she said with a small smile.

He looked up at the woman, his eyes wide with surprise.  "I— I can't eat your dinner."

She smiled, the expression making her look even younger than she already did.  "That's okay, I need to lose some weight, and I've been snacking on popcorn all night."

She definitely did not need to lose weight.  "But—"

"You look like you could really use it, so go on.  What you gave me is more than enough to cover it.  I can grab a burger on the way home."

"Uh, okay," he said, admitting to himself that it smelled wonderful.  "Thanks."

"Sure, no problem."

"Uh, John," he corrected her.  "My name's John."

"Okay, John," she said, smiling at him.  "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Got a killer headache," he admitted.

"Looks like you hit your head or something," she said, nodding at the bandage.

"Yeah… car accident."

"I've got some stuff that might help; I get these migraines sometimes from the music."

"No, thanks," Vin replied automatically.

"I mean over-the-counter stuff.  You know, extra strength."

Vin tried a bite of the spaghetti.  "This is good, thank you."

"I'll get you some, okay?  Maybe it’ll help your headache."

He nodded.  "Yeah, okay, maybe it'll help."

"You eat that, and I'll get you another beer too."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday morning**

Chris sat in the Ram, Josiah behind the wheel.  Behind them, Buck and Ezra sat in the ladies' man's Trans Am.  JD and Nathan had gone straight to the office to see if they could turn up anything on Vin from there.

"Looks like his Jeep from here," Josiah commented.  "But there's no way to know without checking the VIN number.  Looks like it took a pretty hard hit, too."

Chris nodded.  His first look at the battered vehicle had almost knocked the wind out of him.  It was Vin's Jeep; he knew that.  "Let's go talk to the attendant."

The two men climbed out of the Ram, Buck and Ezra joining them on the sidewalk.  They crossed the street and entered the lot.

Chris drew himself up, squared his shoulders, and led the way across the lot, still using the cane to help take some of the weight off his aching leg.  The rest of the team followed.

Reaching the small shack that sat along one chain-link fence, Buck pulled open the door and entered.  Inside, a young man in coveralls looked up from the magazine he was reading:   _Soldier of Fortune_.

"Can I help you?" he asked suspiciously.

Ezra flashed the man a professionally cool smile.  "I certainly hope so," he said, handing over his identification as he continued, "I'm Special Agent Standish, and these are my associates.  As you can see, we're from the ATF."  Ezra extended his hand, but when the young man reached for it, he quickly pulled it back and smiled apologetically.  "Grease…  You understand."

The man did, and he wasn't impressed, but he was sure that Ezra and the others were important.  He wiped his hand on his pant leg and asked, "What do you fellas need?"

"We're here about the Jeep," Buck explained.  "When was it brought in?  And, where from?"

The man, whose name patch on his coveralls read "Tom," reached for a clipboard, but then stopped.  "You have a release form?"

"You saw it," Chris said, his head jerking to indicate the ID Standish was still holding in his hand.  "So, _Tom_ , we're not here to _collect_ the vehicle; we just want to know where it was brought in from, and when.  And we'll need to take a look at it."

"But—" the man began.

"You don't want to interfere with an on-going _federal_ investigation, now do you, son?" Josiah asked him.

"Federal, huh?" Tom asked, not sure if he believed these guys, but he was too afraid of them to do anything about it.

"We don't have all day," Larabee told him.

"We only need to examine the vehicle and verify the VIN number.  And get that information," Ezra prompted the man.  "Then we'll be out of your hair."

Tom pulled the clipboard over and checked the first page, then folded it back to the second.  "Uh, here it is.  The Jeep…  Looks pretty bad.  They brought it in yesterday around three-thirty in the afternoon…  It was in an accident on I25, at the junction with the Six."  He grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down the VIN number, handing it to Standish.

"Excellent," Standish said, flashing a smile at the man.  "Well, not that the car has been damaged, of course, but that it was here.  We appreciate your assistance, Tom."

"Yeah, sure," Tom replied, "it's out by the garage if you want to check that number."

"You say it was damaged," Josiah said, pushing his glasses back in place and leveling a curious if bored expression on the man.  "Any idea what happened?"

"Report said it was involved in a hit-and-run on the freeway," Tom told him.  "Pretty much totaled the left front end.  Some damage to the rear as well."

"Hit and run?" Chris echoed, his voice taking on a concerned tone.

Tom looked up at him.  "That's all I have here.  Sorry."  He paused a moment, then queried, "Can I ask what this is all about?"

"Ya can," Buck told him, "but we're not free to tell you anything at this point."

"I was talking to one of the officers…  He said a blue sports car, maybe a Mustang, hit the Jeep and the driver lost control, hit the median," Tom offered, hoping to wring more information out of the agents.  At least this was more interesting than most mornings.

"What happened to the driver?" Josiah asked him.  "In case we have to interview him, you understand."

Tom shrugged.  "Don't know.  Officer didn't say."

"Well, you've been a great help," Ezra said.  "Now, we should go look; they're expecting us back in the office by ten to finish another investigation."

"Go out, take a right.  Left around the garage when you get there and you can't miss it."

"Thank you," Ezra said, extending his hand only to pull it away again.  "Sorry… you understand."

"Yeah, you're welcome," Tom said, reaching for his magazine.  He was reading again before they were out the door.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"It's Vin's Jeep," Chris said as soon as he saw it.  He could feel Tanner's presence attached to the car.

"We still need to check the VIN number," Buck said softly.

The blond nodded, waiting while Ezra made the check.

"It's Mr. Tanner's," the undercover man said a few moments later, his voice tight with worry.

"We have to find out who responded to the accident."

"It was probably the state patrol," Josiah offered.

"Let's go find out."

As they started back to their vehicles, Buck asked, "Your leg hurting?"

"What?"

"You're limping more," he explained.

Chris nodded.  "Yeah, it's sore."

"Maybe we should stop, get something to eat so you can take some pills?"

Larabee shook his head, his lips set in a thin line of determination.  "Not until I find out what happened to Vin."

 

* ~ * ~* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

After working their way through three different people, the agents finally found somebody at the State Patrol office who could help them.

"Chris?  Chris Larabee?"

The blond turned, and then smiled as he recognized the speaker.  "Kathy Corke?"

The woman smiled back, giving Larabee a quick hug.  "Chris, it's so good to see you!  But it's Kathy Karon now, Captain Karon, actually."

"You two know each other?" Buck asked, his gaze sweeping over the forty-something woman with short, reddish-blond hair and freckles.  She was wearing a State Patrol uniform and carrying a file folder.

"Chris and I went to high school together, back in Indiana," Kathy explained. "Spent a lot of weekends hanging out on the lake."

"Kathy dated my best friend," Chris added.

"How is Hound these days?" she asked him.

"Hound?" Ezra echoed.

"Brian 'Hound' Harrison," Chris clarified.  "I don't have a clue.  I lost track of him when I went into the Navy."

"Navy?" Kathy asked, her eyes rounding in surprise.  "Boy, we _do_ have a lot to catch up on!"  She shook her head and then continued.   "I understand you want to know about an accident that happened yesterday afternoon?"

Larabee nodded.  "Yeah, between one and two p.m.  It involved a Jeep on I25.  A possible hit and run."

She nodded and offered, "Why don't you come to my office?"  As they headed off she looked down at the cane and Chris' limp.  "War injury?"

He grinned.  "Just a slight accident on a case."

"A case?" she repeated.  "Don't tell me, you're a cop now?"

"Was – DPD for a few years, but now I'm with the ATF.  These are some of my team.  The driver of the Jeep is another one," he said as they reached her office.

The agents followed Kathy into a small but comfortable office.  Chris sat down across the desk from her, the others remained standing.  "One of your team, huh?" she asked.

Larabee nodded.  "Yeah, he was on his way to testify in a criminal case, but he never made it to the courthouse.  We're hoping you can tell us what happened to him," he said, his tone and expression imploring.

She hesitated a moment, then opened the file, commenting as she skimmed. "Looks like two of our officers responded to a 911 call at 1:52 p.m.  They arrived on the scene to find a Jeep with no plates involved in an apparent hit and run accident."

"They saw the incident?" Ezra asked her.

She looked up, meeting his eyes.  "No, but there was a witness who had stopped to render aid," Kathy said.

"Who was that?" Buck asked her.

Kathy flashed him an indulgent smile.  "Callie Brin, a good Samaritan," she told him.

"What about Vin?" Chris asked.  "What happened to him?"

Kathy looked back down at the file.  "The driver, a male, was unconscious and had no ID.  He was taken to Denver General.  The officers on the scene thought he might've stolen the Jeep."

"It's a long story," Chris said, "but that was Vin, Vin Tanner, and it's his Jeep, so if you're looking for him, you can call that off.  Can you tell me anything about the hit and run?"

Kathy looked back at the report.  "According to the witness, a bright blue sports car, probably a Mustang, purposefully struck the Jeep twice, then sped off when the Jeep collided with the concrete median."

"Does it say what's wrong with Vin?" Josiah asked.

"No, I'm sorry."

Chris stood.  "Come on," he said to his men, "we're going to the hospital."

"Good luck," Kathy said.  "And drop by when you have time so we can catch up!"

"I'll do that," the blond promised, picking up his cane and hobbling for the door, the others right behind him.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Less than an hour later the agents sat across from Dr. Ortiz as he explained, "Mr. Doe, uh, Tanner, was brought in with a linear skull fracture and a mild concussion.  He was unconscious for less than an hour, and when he awoke, it appeared that he was suffering from amnesia."

"He's lost his memory?" Chris asked, his face paling slightly.

Ortiz nodded.  "Amnesia with rapid recovery isn't uncommon with this kind of head injury.  However, at the time Mr. Tanner couldn't recall his name, or where he was."

"Can we see him?" Buck asked the physician.

"I'd like nothing more than to say yes," he replied, "but Mr. Tanner snuck out of the hospital sometime yesterday afternoon."

"Snuck out?" Chris repeated, leaning forward in his chair, his face now a distinctive ash-gray color.  "When?"

"Around three.  He was left unattended for a short period of time and—"

"Doctor, is he in any danger?" Ezra interrupted.

Ortiz's expression turned troubled.  "To be completely honest, I don't know.  He does have a concussion, and there are potential complications.  I'd feel better if he were back here so we could keep an eye on him for a day or two.  If he should sustain a second impact, it could cause brain swelling."

Chris swallowed hard.  "Worst case, Doctor, if he takes another hit and it—?  How soon do we have to find him?"

"Twenty-four hours," Ortiz replied.  "But that's a worst case prediction.  I don't think he's in any immediate danger.  And the police are looking for him; they said something about him stealing a car?"

Buck shook his head.  "Vin didn't—"

"He didn't have any ID," Josiah interrupted the ladies' man.

"Damn," Chris breathed.  "But Kathy should've already taken care of that."

"That's too bad," the doctor said.  "The more people looking for him, the faster we might find him."

"There is that," Ezra replied, nodding thoughtfully.

"Do you have any idea what he might do?" Chris asked the doctor.

"Even though he's lost his memory, that knowledge is still in his head," Ortiz explained.  "You're his friends; you might be able to anticipate where he might go.  He's likely to be attracted to familiar places.  But if you do find him, please, bring him back here, or get him to another hospital as soon as possible."

"We will," Chris promised, standing.  He shook the physician's hand.  The others thanked him as well.

In the hallway, Buck asked, "Where do we start?"

Chris thought a moment, then said, "Purgatorio."

As they headed out, Ezra pulled Larabee to a stop.

"What?" the blond asked.

Standish nodded at a young woman standing at the information desk, arguing with the volunteer on duty.  "I told you, I don't know his name," she said, "but he was brought in yesterday, around two-ish.  He was in a car accident."

The aide behind the desk shook her head.  "If you don't have a name, I'm afraid I can't help you."

"Uh, excuse me," Chris said, limping over to the young woman.

She looked up.  "Yes?"

"Are you asking about a man in a Jeep?"

Her green eyes widened and she smiled.  "Yeah, how did you know?"

"Can we talk someplace?" Chris asked her.

She shrugged, eyeing the four men cautiously.  "Uh, yeah, I guess so.  What'd you have in mind?"

Chris glanced around, thinking.  "How about the cafeteria?"

Relief flashed across her face and she nodded.  "Sure, I can do that."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

In the cafeteria, Chris treated her to a cup of coffee, the other agents picking up cups for themselves as well.  As they sat with their drinks, Josiah asked her to tell them about the accident.

When she was through, Buck reached out and squeezed her arm, saying sincerely, "We really appreciate you stopping to help him."

Chris nodded his agreement.

"I just wanted to find out how he is.  So, how is he?" Callie asked them.

The agents exchanged concerned glances.

"To be perfectly honest, Mss Brin, we don't know," Ezra admitted.

"Excuse me?" Callie asked.  "You mean you haven't seen him?"

"Vin, uh, left the hospital yesterday," Buck told her, not sure how much Chris would want him to tell the young woman.

"Left?" she echoed.  "But he was bleeding so bad…"

"The doctor said he lost his memory," Chris explained.  "He thinks Vin might've panicked and left because he was confused about what had happened to him."

"Will he be okay?" she asked, concern clear in her voice.

"The doctor thinks so," Josiah assured her.  "But we're going to see if we can't find him."

"We just wanted to hear about the accident from you," Chris told her.

"Why don't you give me your phone number?" Buck suggested.  "I'll give you a call, let you know how it works out."

"Great," Callie said, waiting for the ladies' man to pull out a small notepad and a pen before rattling off her number.

When she left, Ezra turned to the ladies' man, saying, "She probably already has a boyfriend."

Buck grinned.  "Maybe, but I never pass up the chance to add a pretty girl's number to the little black book."

The men headed for Purgatorio to begin their search for Vin.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Late Tuesday morning**

Vin woke and glanced around, studying his surroundings:  a small bedroom.  There was a dresser, a nightstand, and a full-length mirror in one corner.  The walls were a utilitarian cream color, the carpet a mixture of warm earth-tones.  Several small Victorian paintings hung on the walls, their surrounding frames gilded and lacy.  It was clean and neat, but none of it looked the least bit familiar.

He frowned, trying to remember how he had gotten there.

"You're awake!"

He blinked and turned his head.  The waitress.  "How'd—?"

"You almost passed out at the table in the club.  I had Sam help me get you into my car.  I was going to take you to the hospital, but you refused to go, so I brought you here.  It's my apartment," she explained.

"Did we…?"

She blushed and giggled.  "No.  I slept on the sofa.  You were out as soon as your head hit the pillow."

Relief swept over Vin, although he didn't know why.  She was pretty enough, and thin, with short blonde hair and pale green eyes.  She obviously had a good heart, too.  He paused, staring at her for a long moment.

 _She looked familiar last night_ , he reminded himself.  _Why?  Who does she look like?_

"Look, uh, your clothes…  They were, uh, pretty dirty.  I borrowed some things from my neighbor for you.  I hope you don't mind.  You didn't have anything in your pockets."

Vin nodded, slowly sitting up in the twin bed, but making sure he kept the sheet over his lap, even though he was wearing briefs.  She handed him a pair of worn jeans, a faded flannel shirt and a pair of white athletic tube socks.  She dipped her head, saying, "Uh, all Tony wanted for the clothes were your shoes."

"My shoes?" he echoed.

"Yeah, but Tony gave me some money to get you a new pair.  We can stop at Payless and pick up something, okay?  How's your head?"

"Better," Vin lied, reaching up to touch the bandage.  "C'n I borrow the shower?"

"Sure," the woman said.  "Out the door and to your left."

She turned to leave, but Vin stopped her, saying, "Hey, I don't even know your name."

"Stacy," she said and smiled.  "I'm going to go get breakfast started.  Toast and eggs sound okay?"

"Sure," he replied, his stomach grumbling.

He waited for her to leave before he climbed out of the bed.  He reached out and used the dresser to steady himself.  His head pounded almost as fiercely as it had the night before, and the dizziness still haunted him.  He sighed.  At least his stomach wasn't doing back flips at the moment.

In the tiny bathroom, Vin stared into the mirror as he tugged the ends of the bandage up and then removed it.  Gingerly feeling along the stitches, he grimaced.  It wasn't as bad as he'd expected, given how much his head hurt.

Then, climbing into the shower, he washed away the dirt and hospital smell.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday afternoon**

 "Nothing," Chris grumbled.  He sighed and dropped onto Vin's chair in the office, his leg throbbing painfully.

"Me, either," Buck admitted, leaning against his own desk.

"I started a search for that blue Mustang," JD told them.

Buck looked skeptical.  "Kid, you know how many blue Mustangs there are in the Denver metro area?"

"Over fifteen thousand, actually," their computer expert admitted.  "But only seventeen were reported stolen as of this morning."

Buck's expression brightened.  "Good idea!"

JD looked pleased with himself as he said, "I'm running those down as best I can."

"So, where do we look next?" Nathan asked his boss.

Chris thought for a moment, then shook his head.  "I have no idea.  He's been in Purgatorio since he got to Denver.  We hit every place he might hole up at."

Buck huffed out a long sigh.  "Maybe Josiah and Ezra are having better luck than we did."

"I called all the places in Purgatorio where Vin spends time:  gym, rec center, St. Philips, and his apartment building," Nathan told them.  "They'll call us if they see him."

Larabee nodded.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

After stopping at a Payless shoe store, where they picked up an inexpensive pair of tennis shoes for him, Stacy drove Vin to a small community clinic.  After a two-hour wait, he was taken in so a doctor could examine his scalp wound.

"Have a seat on the table," the young black man said.

Vin walked as normally as possible to the examination table and eased himself up.  The movement triggered a wave of dizziness and nausea, but both quickly faded once he was settled and not moving any more.

The doctor pulled on a pair of latex gloves, then maneuvered an overhead light over and turned it on.  Leaning close, he inspected the wound.

"Well, whoever fixed you up did a good job," he said as he probed.  "I'm just going to clean this up and put some anti-bacterial cream on it.  I'd like to put another bandage on it as well."

"Sure.  Thanks, Doc," Vin replied, trying to ignore the pounding inside his skull.

"I noticed you gave your name as 'Doe,'" the man said casually as he worked.

"Uh, yeah," Vin said.  "Not too original, huh?"

"We don't ask any questions here, Mr. Doe," the doctor assured him.  "I just want to make sure you're not having any other, more serious problems.  Any headaches?"

"No," Vin lied, wincing as the man worked.

"Dizzy?"

"No."

"Stomach upset?"

"No."

"Double-vision?"

"No."

"Well, then, I guess you're okay," the physician concluded.  "But if you _did_ have any of those symptoms, it'd be a real good idea if you checked yourself into a hospital."

"I'll keep that in mind, Doc," Vin replied.

A few minutes later, his new bandage in place, Vin and Stacy left the clinic.  In the car, he asked her, "Y' think we could just drive around a little?"

"You want to see if you remember anything?" Stacy asked him.

He nodded.

"Sure.  I don't have to be at work until five."

"Thanks.  I appreciate all your help."

She smiled.  "That's okay…  To tell you the truth, you kind of remind me of my brother.  Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

Vin thought for a moment, then mumbled, "Wish I knew."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday, 5 p.m.**

 

The Reverend stopped, watching as Vin climbed out of a small silver Honda that was parked in the lot of the Jeweled PussyKat.  Stepping back into the shadows, he watched the man follow one of the new waitresses inside.  He smiled and headed for a phone booth.

Dropping in a quarter, he dialed.  "Dickie?" he asked when someone picked up.

"Yeah?" came a sleepy voice.

"It's me, Reverend.  I found Tanner for you, so let's discuss my finder's fee, shall we?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Sitting at the same table he had used the night before, Vin tried to sort through the images that had been assaulting him all day:  the mountains… football games with a group of rowdy guys… a large black horse, an older woman, a man with a gold tooth that flashed in the sunlight when he smiled… a smiling man with a mustache, guns, firefights, fist fights, car chases, and a big man with grey eyes… a black man who might be a medic, and a run down apartment building with a mural painted on one side.  There was a young man, too, sitting in front of a computer.

The images left him feeling weak and troubled.  A fine film of sweat coated his skin.

There were other images, too, and in particular a face that haunted the edges of his memories, but refused to surface.  He was pretty sure it was a man, maybe a blond, but he couldn't be sure.  Something about the man made him feel guilty, and he was afraid he might be someone he'd killed.

The evening passed, Stacy stopping by occasionally to deliver a new beer and a snack, along with more of the over-the-counter painkillers.  He thanked her, took the pills, drained the drinks, ate the food, and then closed his eyes again, willing the images to make some kind of sense.  But they remained disjointed and scattered.

As the hours passed, the pain in his head slowly swelled in intensity, eventually making it impossible for him to think.  He gave up trying to fit the images together into some kind of mental jigsaw puzzle and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes and hoping sleep might free him from the pain for a while.

"Tanner?"

The agent's eyes opened and he looked up at a white man who was standing in front of his table.  The guy was in his early-thirties, well dressed in a business suit.  His short brown hair was conservatively cut, and muddy brown eyes peered at him with a disconcerting intensity.

"Who?" he asked, unhappy about needing to concentrate past the thrumming agony raging inside his skull.

"Vin Tanner.  That's you."

Vin could sense the man's barely hidden hostility.  "An' who the hell are you?"

"Don't play games with me, Tanner.  You know who I am."

Vin's eyes widened.  Tanner.  That sounded familiar… important, somehow…  "Tanner, that's m' name?"

The man's eyes narrowed, but he grabbed a chair and sat down at the table.  Leaning over, he asked, "What's the matter with you?"

Vin didn't trust the man, but he seemed to know more than he did, things he needed to know.  "Was in a car accident, hit my head, can't remember anything."

The man studied Vin's face, noting the bandage, the dark circles under the man's eyes, and the pain lines that puckered the corners of Tanner's eyes and mouth.

"Do you know me?" Vin asked him.

The man nodded once.

"Who am I?"

"Vin Tanner."

Vin hesitated, but then he asked, "What do I do?  For a livin', I mean."

The man didn't answer, leaning back in his chair instead, muddy brown eyes regarding Tanner like he was sizing him up for a coffin.

His headache flared, and Vin's eyes narrowed.  "Listen, I ain't got time for games."

A ruthless smile lifted the corners of the man's mouth.  "You really _don't_ know who the hell you are, do you?"

"Told y', I can't," Vin half-growled.  His eyes narrowed and he snarled as menacingly as possible, "But you're gonna tell me."

The man nodded, beginning to smile.  "Sure, why not."  He bent forward, resting his forearms on the small, round table.  "You're a killer, Tanner.  You kill people," he said softly.

 _Ah hell,_ Vin thought, feeling his breath catch.  "And— And I… work for ya?" he asked the man.

There was a hesitation, and then a nod.  "In a manner of speaking, yes."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Carroll.  David Carroll, that ring a bell for you?"

Vin sat up straighter.  The name did sound familiar, but he had no idea why.  _God, did I already agree t' whack somebody for this guy?_

"I hired you…  To take out some troublesome ATF agents for me."

 _Fuck, I did_.  "W-Why?" Vin demanded.

"Does it matter?" Carroll returned, his expression going hard.  "Look, you kill people and get paid for it…  I… I paid you.  And you took my money.  Now I want to see the bodies.  I want the job I paid for done – immediately."

Vin swallowed thickly.  This couldn't be happening.  What the hell was he going to do?  "What'd they do?" he insisted.

Carroll was silent for a moment, then he said, "They killed my brother.  I want revenge, pure and simple."

"Look, I don't—"

"You were paid, Tanner," the man snarled, leaning closer, his eyes flashing.  "You _are_ going to finish the job…  Or… or your family's going to pay the price."  He watched as a shocked expression flashed across Tanner's face, quickly suppressed, but not quickly enough.

"F-Family?"

The man's eyes narrowed, a predatory smile curling the corners of his mouth. "A wife," he said, "and a… daughter.  Sweet little thing too, so young and innocent.  They won't die fast, Tanner.  I promise you that.  I'll see to it they die slowly, very, _very_ slowly.  There are plenty of other people out there just like you who'd be happy to do it, for the right price."

Images of a mutilated body, a young Asian girl, flashed through Vin's mind and he shuddered, his stomach almost emptying on the table.  Then the faces of other children flashed through his mind.  They were happy, smiling.  Were they friends of his daughter?  But what did she look like?  What did her mother look like?  Why couldn't he remember?

"You want to back out?" Carroll asked, his mind racing with a plan.  "Fine, you give me back the twenty-grand and I'll get someone else to do the job.  But if you keep the money, you do the job."

Vin frantically sought for the location of the money amongst his shredded memories.  If he could give it back, get this guy off his back…  But there were no images, no hints where the cash might be.  "Where are these agents?" he asked in a raspy voice.

"Denver," Carroll supplied.  "I'll take you."

Vin raised his hand, trying to slow the man down.  "Look, I don't know if I c'n do this right now.  I—"

"You don't and—"

"Listen," Vin hissed, reaching out to grab the man's arm.  "M' head's killin' me here, y'hear?  I can't see straight.  Maybe in a day or two—"

"Tonight, Tanner.  You kill them _tonight_ or, so help me, you and your family will die."

The look in the man's eyes told Vin that he meant every word he said.  He nodded, not knowing what else to do.  _What've I got m'self into?  Killin' people?  I can't, I—_

He shut the thoughts off.  It was all too painful, too confusing.  He'd go along, see what the score was.  Then, if he had to do the agents to get Carroll off his back, he would.  He knew he'd killed before.  Then he'd get the man to tell him where his wife and daughter were.  If he could find _them_ , maybe he could finally get the answers he needed.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Tuesday night**

The team sat around Larabee's living room, all of them too tired to eat the hamburgers and fries they had picked up on the way back to the ranch.

Giving up on his rapidly cooling meal, Chris leaned back against the sofa cushions and sighed heavily.  "Where the hell could he be?" he asked tightly, frustration rounding his shoulders and aging him ten years.

"Hiding, more than likely," Josiah said softly.  "He's hurting and he's confused.  He's going to go to ground somewhere he feels safe, and stay there until he's feeling better, or he gets his memories back."

"We'll never find him if he doesn't want to be found," Buck said, shaking his head.  "That boy spent too much time on the streets."

"How's your leg, Chris?" Nathan asked when he saw the man absently rubbing at it.

"Sore," Larabee admitted, too tired to come up with a lie.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," Jackson warned him.

"What choice do I have?" Chris snapped back, his voice too loud and too strained.  "We have to find him before—"

"The doctor said he should be fine," Ezra interrupted.  "I'm sure his memories will start to return soon, and if he's in hiding, he's not going to get hurt.  I was reading—"

"What if they don't come back?" Chris cut in.  "What if we can't find him?  What if he's gone for—?"  He stopped himself, realizing how desperate he sounded.  Hell, it hadn't been all that long ago that Vin had been in the hospital after their stay in that work farm.  If he didn't know better, he'd swear Tanner was trying to drive him into an early grave.

The others knew they didn't have any answers to satisfy the man, but Nathan said, "You really should eat something, keep your strength up.  We all should," he added, glancing around the room at each of his friends.

Chris glared at the black man, his anger shifting to understanding and then to concern when he saw that Jackson hadn't really touched his food either.  None of them had.  "Nathan's right.  We all need to eat, then get some sleep."

The men lapsed into silence, picking at their food, none of them able to make it even halfway through their meals.  After another round of coffee, they headed off to get some much-needed sleep.  Chris retired to his bedroom. Josiah and Nathan took the guest room, Buck and JD opting for the sofas.  And Ezra stretched out in one of the recliners, without a single complaint for once.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Despite the drugs easing the pain in his leg, and being exhausted and emotionally drained, Chris still couldn't get to sleep.  He rose and padded into his office, heading straight for his computer.  He hoped there might be something helpful waiting for him there.

Logging in, he waited for the information on the stolen Mustangs to come up before skimming the information.  He frowned.  There didn't appear to be anything to tell him who might have been driving the car that had hit Vin.  None of the theft victims were anyone he recognized.

He sighed, printing off the information so they could check it over again later, then turned off the computer and went back to bed without bothering to undress this time.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**Wednesday morning, 1 a.m.**

Sitting in Carroll's CRV, Vin stared at the dark ranch house in the distance.

"That's Larabee's home," Carroll said.  Reaching into the back seat, he grabbed a case and lifted it into the front and handed it to Vin.

Tanner opened the case and found a Tec-9 inside.

"Six men," Carroll said.  "I want them all dead."

Vin picked up the gun, the feel of it familiar, comforting somehow.  Then images of the dead Asian child flashed through his mind again.  He looked up at Carroll, asking, "I have a daughter?"

The man smiled, but the effect was nothing more than a condescending sneer.  "You won't, not if you don't do what I paid you to do."

Vin looked down at the gun, his hands shaking slightly.

"Look, you take care of this, I'll see to it you get out of town and get some medical attention," Carroll promised him.  "Then you can go back to your family and lead whatever kind of life you want."

"They know what I do?" Vin asked in a choked whisper.

Carroll scowled.  "How the hell should I know?  I just hired you to kill six men."

A wave of dizziness washed over Viin, nearly causing his stomach to rebel.  He reached for his head, saying, "Look, I can't—"

"You will or, so help me, I'll see to it your wife and daughter end up in _pieces_."  The last came out as a hiss.

Vin swallowed and drew a deep breath, willing the pain and dizziness away.  There was no choice; he had to do what the man said; he couldn't put his family in danger.  He glanced up, peering at the ranch house, something familiar tugging at his gut.

 _Maybe I already cased the place.  Maybe I already worked out how I was gonna do this_ , he rationalized.

But that just didn't feel right.

"Go on," Carroll snarled.

Vin opened the door and climbed out.  He took one unsteady step toward the house, then another.  He stopped, an explosion of agony in his head making him sway on his feet.  He reached out, bracing himself against the split-rail fence that ran along the side of the driveway.

Carroll pulled a Browning 9mm out of his jacket pocket and stepped up next to Vin.  "All right, damn it, I'll go with you, but _you_ pull the trigger, understand?  I paid for that much."  Then, grabbing the agent's arm, he hurried Vin along to the house.

By the time Tanner stood inside the kitchen, his head was pounding, bright white and yellow lights erupting in front of his eyes like strobes and 4th of July sparklers.  A barrage of images passed through his mind so quickly he couldn't even begin to interpret them.  But his breath caught as his stomach almost emptied.  How had he known the code to bypass the security system?

"Go on," Carroll hissed.  "Find them and kill them."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Chris lay curled on his side, sleeping, until some internal alarm began to sound.

"Huh?" he grunted, jerking awake.  Groping in the dark, he found his 45 and grabbed it.  Something was wrong.  He could feel it, even if he didn't know exactly what it was.

Rolling out of bed, fully awake, he crept silently toward the door.  He opened it a crack and waited, listening.  Then he eased into the dark hallway and started down, but as he neared the doorway that would take him down another short hall to the kitchen he heard a man whisper, "Go on.  Find them and kill them."

_Who the hell's that?_

Taking a deep breath, Chris waited to meet the intruders, knowing he was the only thing that stood between the enemy and the rest of his men.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Vin walked slowly down the short hallway, but stopped when he saw Chris emerging from the shadows, his gun up and ready.

"Vin?" the blond said, but it was no louder than a whisper, and his expression was totally confused.

"Kill him!" Carroll barked, stepping in behind Vin where he could use the sniper as a shield.

Vin brought the Tec-9 up, aiming at Chris' chest.  For a moment it was a stand-off, both men covering each other, then the blond whipped both his hands up, making it clear he was no threat, even if he was still holding a gun.

"Vin, it's me," he said at the same time.  "What's wrong?"

Images stormed through Tanner's mind, ransacking his resolve, but he still couldn't remember who the blond-haired man was.

"Shoot him," Carroll commanded.  "Do it or, so help me, your family's going to suffer."

Chris' gaze slipped from Vin to Carroll and back again, green eyes locking on pale blue in an unbreakable bond.  "Vin, I don't know what Carroll told you, but _we're_ your family – me and the rest of the team.  We've been looking for you.  You were in a car accident, remember?"

"I can't remember," Vin growled, his shoulders pinching in an attempt to ward off the agony that threatened to tear his head apart from the inside out.

"You're hurting, I know that," Chris soothed.  "We talked to the doctor who treated you.  Latino guy, uh, Ortiz, right?  He said you have amnesia."

"Are you going to let him get your family killed?" Carroll snarled, his own gun coming up to cover Chris.  "Where are the others?" he demanded.

Chris' eyes narrowed, knowing some of them were probably watching the unfolding scene from the shadows along the hallway.  "Sleeping," he lied.

"Get in the kitchen," Carroll demanded, gesturing at Chris with his Browning.

Larabee limped slowly down the hallway.

Vin frowned, more images flashing through his vision:  a fight, a gunshot, a murdered Asian child, the blond lying on the ground, clutching his leg while it bled.  Guilt and remorse exploded in Tanner's chest, competing with the agony in his head for a brief moment.

"Do it now, Tanner," Carroll panted, his dark eyes wide and wild.  "Do it, or when I get back to your daughter, I'm going to shove this gun inside her and pull the trigger…"  He giggled at the thought, a high pitched titter that caused both agents' skin to pucker with goose bumps.  "I'll— I'll burn her, Tanner.  I'll burn her with cigarettes.  And cut her.  You watch me, I'll do it.  I _will_ do it."

As the man ranted Vin could see the images of the same kinds of wounds on the little Asian girl's body.  He started to shake and the room began to tilt dangerously.  _I can't kill this guy.  I don't know who he is, but I can't kill him_.  _I can't_.

"You're sick, Carroll," Chris hissed, anger folding over his face as he glared at the man.

But Carroll didn't reply, lost in his own world.  "She's bad, you know.  She's very, very bad.  Just like Mommy was bad, but we can fix that.  We can make sure she's never bad again.  She won't be bad any more…"

"Vin—"

"Kill him!" Carroll screamed at Tanner.

Vin's finger tightened on the trigger, but the blond's face faded from sight, lost in the exploding lights that flashed in front of the sniper's eyes, nearly blinding him.  He groaned and choked back a longer, louder cry as it felt like someone was drilling straight into his brain.

"Kill him!"

Vin took a step closer to Chris, then swung around with a pain-filled snarl, the Tec-9 coming up on Carroll in a two-fisted grip that still shook uncontrollably.

"What're you doing?" the man screamed at Vin.  "Kill him!  Now!"

"No," Vin growled deep in his throat, his vision beginning to narrow as a band of black began working its way in from his peripheral vision.

Rage twisted Carroll's face into an unrecognizable mask that was no longer human.  He screamed, his weapon shifting from Chris to Vin.

In Tanner's mind, the following events slowed and he watched as Carroll pulled the trigger.  But someone was lunging forward, striking Carroll between the shoulder blades, sending the man stumbling forward as his finger tightened on the trigger.

Vin fired as well, just before he felt Carroll's bullet strike his upper chest.  A third report echoed in the kitchen as Chris fired on Carroll, who was on his knees then, bringing his gun up to fire at Vin again.  The blond's shot killed the man and Vin watched Carroll fall in a slow-motion ballet of death, then staggered back himself, his legs buckling.  As he fell, he saw the fear and concern on the blond man's face, but the image was quickly erased when he struck the back of his head on the edge of the counter.

"Vin!" Chris shouted, lunging to Carroll and kicking the man's gun away as Nathan arrived, bending to check Tanner for a pulse.  There was one, but it was rapid and thready.

Buck grabbed for the phone, plucking up the receiver and punching out 911.  "Hello?  I need the police and an ambulance immediately; a man's been shot."  He gave the 911 operator the address, and identified himself and the victim as federal agents.  "Please, hurry," he added.

"Josiah, get me a towel or something to stop this bleeding," Nathan snapped.

Sanchez was moving before the man had finished speaking, disappearing down the hallway like he had grown wings.

Chris knelt on the other side of the fallen man.  He reached out, gripping his friend's shoulder with a trembling hand.  "Vin?  Vin, can you hear me?  Come on, Cowboy, don't you die on me, damn it.  Not now."

There was no response.

"Come on, Josiah!  Hurry up!"

"Here," he said, hurrying in with an armload of towels.

Nathan grabbed one from the top of the pile, then carefully lifted Vin to check for an exit wound.  He was surprised to find only a slightly larger opening in the man's back.  Pressing the cloth against the bleeding wound, he let Vin roll onto the cloth, his own weight putting pressure on the injury.  Then, grabbing a second towel, he pressed it against the entry wound while Ezra knelt at Tanner's head and checked Vin's airway.

"He's breathing fine," Standish reported.

"Where are they?" Chris asked, glancing up, willing the sound of sirens to materialize.

"They're on the way," Buck said.  "Do you think he remembered?"

Chris shook his head, looking back at his fallen friend.  "I don't know, maybe.  He seemed to know Carroll was the real problem."

Nathan pressed harder against the cloth as blood began to soak through.

"Hang on, Vin," Larabee said.  "Please."

"Hurts," Tanner whimpered, his eyes remaining closed.

Chris' breath caught painfully in his chest when Vin gasped in a short breath and moaned.  The sound ended with a sharp grunt of pain.  "Vin, listen to me.  You have to fight.  You have to hang on.  Help's on the way.  Just hang on."

Dark eyelashes fluttered against bloodless cheeks before pain-glazed blue eyes opened halfway.

"Vin?" Chris asked, his voice catching.

The sniper tried to focus on Larabee's face, but his eyes refused.  "Wh—"

"What?" the blond asked.  "Vin?"

"Who… am… I?"

"Not now, Vin," Nathan said.  "Right now you concentrate on stickin' around so we can tell you everything you want to know, okay?"

Vin stared up at Chris for a moment, trying to remember who he was.  "Friend?" he whispered airily just before his eyes began to drop closed again.

"Yeah, Cowboy, we're friends.  So don't you give up on me, you hear?  Hang on, Vin, just a little longer."

In the distance the sirens could finally be heard.

"I'll go open the front door," JD offered from where he stood by Josiah.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**5:50 a.m.**

Sitting in the ER waiting room, Chris ran his hands over his hair and sighed heavily.  He wanted to get up and go ask the nurse what was going on, but Nathan had done that less than ten minutes ago and there was still no word.  He huffed, trying to force his anger and frustration back to manageable levels, but they still pressed against his breastbone, trying to claw their way out.

"Damn it," he breathed, shoving back against the sofa seat.

"Chris?" Buck asked worriedly from where he sat in one of the more comfortable chairs.

"Nothing," the blond sighed, waving a hand to fend off any more questions and feeling his jaw muscles start to twitch.  "I just want someone to tell us something.  It's been almost four hours, for Christ's sake!"

"I'm sure we'll hear as soon as there's something—"

"I know, JD, I know, all right?" Chris interrupted, then added more kindly, "I just hate waiting."

"Us too, brother," Josiah admitted.

Chris offered the older man a brief, reassuring smile that he didn't feel.

"He'll be fine," Ezra stated.  "The paramedics arrived quickly, and they reached the hospital swiftly."

The blond nodded, worried anyway.

"How's your leg?" Buck asked him.

Chris thought about lying, but he wasn't in the mood.  "Feels like someone's trying to cut it off, okay?"

"I could ask the nurse—" Nathan started.

"No!" Chris snapped, then forced himself to stop before he said something he'd regret ten minutes later.  "Yeah, okay, maybe that would help."

Nathan stood, the sympathetic, understanding expression on his face making Chris feel like a heel.  "I'll be right back," the man promised.

Larabee waited until Jackson disappeared around the corner before he shook his head.  "Shouldn't take it out on him, but if Vin—"

 _No!_ he shouted at himself.  _You think like that, you're just inviting the worst_.  _He'll be all right.  He has to be._

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**7 a.m.**

Almost an hour later the agents were still waiting impatiently when a young black woman stepped into the waiting room.

"Mr. Larabee?" she asked.

Chris stood, a twinge of pain racing down to his heel and up to his hip.  He winced, but said, "I'm Chris Larabee."

The women smiled, her practiced eye taking in the condition of his leg.  "I'm Janique Oba, Mr. Tanner's doctor."

"How is he?" Chris asked, starting to limp over to her.

"Stable," she said, gesturing for him to sit back down.

Larabee hobbled back to the over-long couch and dropped back down with a grunt.

The woman sat down next to him, glancing from Chris to the others as she spoke.  "First, I want you to know that the bullet caused minimal damage.  It was deflected by a rib, which is fractured, but should heal just fine with time and rest.  Mr. Tanner has a small lung bruise under the fracture, and we're monitoring that closely."

"What about his head?" Chris asked her.  "The other doctor said that if he hit his—"

Dr. Oba shook her head.  "Our neurologist has already examined Mr. Tanner. It was just a glancing blow, in an area removed from the original injury.  There's no sign of second impact syndrome, but we are keeping a close eye on that, too, just in case."

"When can we see him?" Buck asked her, relief making him slightly lightheaded.

"Not until later today, I'm afraid.  He'll be in recovery for another hour or so, and then we'll get him moved to our post-op ward.  We're going to be running some tests for a while.  If you can give us until one or so, we'll be able to accommodate you."

Chris nodded.  "Oh, Dr. Ortiz at Denver Community saw Vin after his car accident."

Oba noted that on the chart she was carrying.  "Thank you, I'll have Mr. Tanner's records transferred over here."

"They'll be listed under John Doe," Nathan told her.  "Vin lost his memory in the accident."

The young woman's eyes widened slightly.  "Okay, I'll pass that along to the neurologist."  She stood.  "He's in good hands, gentlemen," she promised.  "Get some rest.  You all look like you could use it.  I can have someone take a look at that leg if you'd like?"

"No, thanks," Chris replied.  "I just need to rest it some."  He stood and shook her hand.  "We appreciate all your help, Doctor."

She smiled understandingly, then headed back to call Ortiz.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**12:58 p.m.**

That afternoon, the team walked into Summit two minutes before one, all still looking tired and haggard.  Chris' limp was more pronounced and he leaned heavily on the cane as he proceeded slowly with small, shuffling steps.

After checking with an older man who was volunteering at the information desk to get a room number, the agents crossed the lobby to the elevators and rode up to the fifth floor.  Stepping out into the hallway, JD checked the numbers and led them to Vin's room.

Stepping inside, the six men paused.  Vin lay in a small bed, the guardrails pulled up.  Two IVs hung on a single pole, dripping fluids into the back of his left hand.  His head sported a new, smaller bandage in addition to another one that was partly visible on his side.  The man's skin was pale and damp, accentuating the dark circles under his eyes.  A nasal cannula delivered oxygen to the unconscious man.

"Maybe we should come back later," JD whispered.

Chris shook his head.  "I'm waiting right here."

A half-hour later Dr. Oba arrived to check on Vin's progress.  She smiled at the six men scattered around the room.  "Good afternoon," she greeted.  "He had a good morning.  No complications."

Nathan smiled, the news cheering him.  "Has he woken up?"

"Not yet," the doctor said, checking the chart where the floor nurses had recorded Vin's vital signs.  She made a note on the chart she was carrying, then set it on the bedside table and picked up the neurologist's chart, reading the notes there.

Chris had read both documents earlier, but he couldn't make heads or tails out of the information, most of which appeared to be written in some kind of physician's code.  Even Nathan hadn't been able to tell him much.

"Well, everything looks as good as we could expect."

"What does that mean?" Chris asked, his temper still a little frayed.

Oba smiled.  "That he's doing very well."  She turned back to Vin.  "Mr. Tanner?" she said.  When he didn't respond, she reached out, squeezing his right hand.  "Mr. Tanner, can you hear me?"

The dark eyelashes fluttered and Vin's eyes opened.  He blinked owlishly as his vision slowly cleared.

"Hello.  I'm Janique Oba, your doctor.  How're you feeling?  Any pain?"

"M' head hurts," Vin said, his voice thick and slightly slurred.

Reaching for a glass of water sitting on the nightstand, she bent the straw over and held it up to his lips.  He took three swallows.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome.  Your head hurts?"

Vin nodded slightly.

"Any other pain?"

"M' side," he replied.  "A little."

"All right, are you having any trouble breathing?"

"No."

"How many fingers?" she asked, holding up two.

"Two.  C'n see just fine, Doc."

"Any nausea?"

Vin hesitated a moment, then said, "Don't think so."

"Well, we'll be keeping you here for a few days, just to make sure everything's fine.  If your chest starts to hurt too much, just press this button," she explained.  "That will release a painkiller into your IV."

Vin stared at the button, then reached out and pressed it once.

"And if you start having any trouble breathing, I want you to call for a nurse, okay?"

"Okay," he echoed back, already feeling the medication beginning to erase the pain in his side.  His head still pounded, but he didn't care as much about that either.

"You feel up for some visitors?" Oba asked him.

Before Vin could reply, Chris and the others moved closer to the bedside.

"Hey, Vin," Larabee said, trying to smile, but his anxiety made it impossible.

Vin stared up at Chris, then looked at each of the other men in turn, but there was no recognition in his eyes.  "Don't know these guys," he muttered dismissively, wishing everyone would just go away so he could go back to sleep.

"Yes, you do, son," Josiah corrected him.  "You just don't remember."

"Want t' be alone," Tanner told them, closing his eyes.  "'M tired."

Chris' expression turned hard.  "Fine.  We'll come back in to see you later."

"Whatever," was the mumbled reply.

Oba watched the men leave, and then looked back at Vin, her expression concerned.  "You want to talk about it?"

"No."

"All right," she said, making a mental note to have one of the psychologists drop in on the man later in the day.  "But you should know that they were here most of last night, waiting to hear how you were.  It took a real effort to get them to go home and get some rest.  And they were back first thing this afternoon.  You might not remember them, but they know you, and they care about you – a lot."

Vin cracked his eyes, watching as the woman left, and sighed.  He felt a connection to the men, but it had no foundation in his memory.  He couldn't even recall their names.  And, as much as he wanted to know more about himself, he wasn't ready to let anyone inside his defenses.  _Not yet.  Maybe not ever_ , he thought as sleep finally claimed him again.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Vin was released on the promise that Chris would take him home and make sure his recuperation proceeded smoothly.  Tanner protested, but Dr. Oba and his neurologist, Dr. Carlson, were adamant.  He gave in to escape the mind-numbing routine of the hospital, but he still didn't know who the six men were, or where he was, and that made him nervous and irritable.

After a few days at Larabee's ranch, Vin was sullen and withdrawn, only opening up to the psychologist he was required to visit three times a week.  Dr. Milton Davidson was an older man who looked like he'd be more comfortable living in a log cabin somewhere in the woods rather than sitting behind a desk all day.

Davidson had a low key approach that put his patients at ease and made talking easier.  Vin was no exception.  And Tanner did talk, telling the psychologist about the confusion, the fear, and the embarrassment he felt, living with Larabee, but not remembering anything about their shared past together.

Milt told Vin on each visit that amnesia was an uncommon reaction to an accident, beyond the permanent loss of short term memories around the time of the incident.  But, almost a month after he had left the hospital, Vin appeared no closer to remembering his past than he had been right after the accident, and that suggested something else – something psychological – that was getting in the way of his recovery.

At first Vin resented the diagnosis, proclaiming in no uncertain terms that he "wasn't crazy."

But, after a while, even the stubborn sniper had to admit that something wasn't right.  And he finally gave in and answered all of Davidson's questions.

They talked at great length, trying to uncover what might be keeping Vin's memory from returning, but nothing conclusive rose to the surface.

Hoping that a steady diet of normalcy would eventually begin to erode the problem, Davidson encouraged Vin to resume his ordinary life, to the extent that was possible.  Tanner agreed, but he wasn't particularly happy about it.  And he was especially unhappy about returning to work.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

After a long day looking for Larry "The Bug" Deever's boss, the drive back to the ranch was made in silence.  Chris had given up pointing out familiar landmarks to Vin when the man's only response was a nod or a grunt.  He had heard it all before, and it obviously wasn't helping in the slightest.

When they reached the ranch and changed, Larabee encouraged Vin to wander through the rooms – again.  He wondered briefly if Davidson had put Chris up to the refresher course, but it didn't really matter who had thought up the tests; the bottom line was it wasn't working.

He only agreed to the demand to get Larabee off his back, but his examination was lackadaisical at best.

Back in the living room he asked the blond, "How much time did I spend out here, anyway?"

"Enough for the rest of the team to call the guest room your room," Chris told him.  "You keep your horse out here, too."

"Guess we knew each other pretty good, huh?" Vin commented, curiosity getting the upper hand for once.

"Yeah, you could say that," Chris replied, but the hopeful edge to his voice rubbed Vin's already strained nerves raw.

"Just how long _have_ we known each other?"

"Not as long as you might think," Chris said softly, sitting down on the second sofa so he gave Vin some space.  "You were working with the US Marshals when we met.  I was in the process of putting Team Seven together and I asked you to come on board.  It's been a little over two years now."

Tanner's eyes widened.  He didn't remember a single thing about his friendship with Larabee.  _Two years?  That's all?  Damn, they act like they've known me all m' life!_

Chris didn't look up at Vin as he added, "It might not sound like much, but we're close, Vin, we're all close."

He turned away.  "I'm kinda tired.  Think I'll go take a nap."

"Okay," Larabee said, defeat ringing in the single word.  He stood and walked out of the room, leaving Vin alone.

The man's sagging shoulders told the sniper Chris Larabee was slowly but surely giving up on him.  _'Bout time…  But why does it scare me?_ he wondered as he pulled off his shoes and stretched out on the sofa.  But sleep refused to come.

He could lie there, staring at the ceiling, or he could do… something.  On impulse, he stood and pulled his tennis shoes back on, lacing them up and heading outside to the barn.  Peso was supposed to be his horse, so the least he could do was brush the animal.

He stopped just outside the doors to the barn when he heard Larabee's voice inside.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

"…I don't know if I can take much more of this," Larabee said quietly, his eyes bright.  Sitting on a bale of hay, the blond shook his head as he said into his cell phone, "He's not even trying any more."

 _"I'm sure he's trying, Chris,"_ Josiah assured him.  _"But the doctor said it might take some time.  There's some reason why Vin doesn't want to remember."_

"It's been five weeks," Larabee said and sighed.  "Five weeks, Josiah.  Why wouldn't he want to remember?  It's not like he's had a bad life with us.  We're best friends, for Christ's sake.  I know Vin better than I know myself most of the time.  But this guy's not Vin; I don't know who the hell he is.  And, to be honest, I'm getting tired of living with him."

 _"We just have to give him some time,"_ Josiah argued.  _"He'll come around; I know he will."_

"I don't know how much I have left to give," Chris replied tiredly.

Vin felt like he'd been punched in the gut.  _I've let him down_ , he thought.  _I do that a lot_.

He stopped and turned that idea over in his mind.  _I do that a lot_ , he silently repeated.  _Why does he put up with me?_

There was no answer to that question.

 _Well, there's something I c'n do about it_ , Vin concluded.

Larabee said, "Yeah, thanks, Josiah, I've gotta go," and slipped the cell phone into his pocket when Vin stepped into the barn.

Tanner shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot, his gaze focused on the ground, then said, "Look, I, uh…  I really appreciate what y' been doin' for me, but this just isn't workin', y' know?"

"It's too soon to give up, Vin," Chris said, sitting forward, his expression becoming worried and scared.

Tanner shook his head, the muscles in his jaw working.  He hated to see that look on the man's face.  "I don't seem t' be much help like this, so, uh, I think it'd be better if I went back t' my apartment."

"Vin—"

The sniper cut him off, saying, "Maybe m' memory'll come back if I stop tryin' so hard t' remember."

Larabee nodded thoughtfully, having thought the same thing himself.  "You might have a point.  Some of the stuff I've read says memory recovery is aided when subjects stopped trying to remember; when they accepted their situation."  He sighed.  A part of him wanted to shoot the idea down, but another part was too tired to care.  "You sure you want to go back to your apartment?  Purgatorio's a dangerous place."

"Can't be too bad," Vin grumbled.

"Only you would say that.  And the heat's out in your building.  The apartment manager called me a couple of days ago.  He said it won't be back on for another few days."

Tanner shrugged.  "The weather's nice enough."  His head came up, a challenging tilt to his chin.  "It's m' home, right?"

"I don't like it," Chris admitted, folding his arms over his chest.  He was getting mad, but he refused to let Vin see that.  "I can't stop you, Vin.  You can do whatever you think you have to."

Tanner nodded, his lips pursing briefly when he realized Larabee wasn't going to talk him out of it.  He was going to let him go.  _Guess I wasn't much of a good friend even when I could remember_.  "Good," he said out loud.  "I'll, uh, get m' stuff together."

"You don't even know what your stuff is," Chris said, his tone making Vin feel like he was five years old.

"Yer wrong," Tanner snapped back, his accent suddenly getting thicker.  "Y' keep pointin' 'em out all the time."

When Chris didn't say anything, Vin turned and angrily stalked away.

Larabee sat in silence, watching Tanner go back to the house, disappearing inside.  He pulled out his cell phone again, called Josiah, and told him what had just happened.

 _"Was that a good idea?"_ the profiler asked quietly.  _"Letting him go home alone?"_

"What else could I do?" Larabee demanded, his tone sharp.  "I can't lock him in the guest room."

_"But—"_

Chris shook his head, the anger he felt slipping free.  "It's his choice, Josiah.  If he wants to bail out, that's his right."

 _"He's not himself,"_ Josiah argued.  _"You can't expect him to act like Vin when he doesn't know who Vin is."_

Chris pushed to his feet, his leg aching for the first time in several days.  "I know he's not Vin," he snapped.

_"I'm not so sure."_

"What's that supposed to mean?" Larabee demanded, his free hand coming up to rest defensively on his hip.

_"Just that you've been pushing him away, and I think he knows that."_

The blond paced inside the barn, then dropped back onto the hay bale.  "I don't know what it is," he said, his voice catching.

_"Maybe you're just mad at him?"_

Chris snorted and then laughed, the sound rough and half-wild.  "Oh, yeah, I'm mad all right.  He's acting like a— like a—"

_"Stranger?"_

Chris thought for a moment, then agreed.  "Yeah."

 _"But he_ is _a stranger.  He can't remember."_

"I know that, but it's Vin.  He's—"

 _"Listen to yourself, Chris,"_ Josiah interrupted him.  _"You're mad at Vin because he can't remember us – remember you.  You're hurt, I understand that, but you're taking it out on him.  It's a natural reaction, but—"_

Green eyes widened.  "I—" he interrupted, then dipped his head.  "God, you're right," he sighed.  "I'm being a damned idiot, aren't I."

_"It's understandable—"_

"No, Josiah.  No, it's not.  He's my friend, and I want him to get better, but you're right; I can't expect him to act like himself when he doesn't know who that is."  He paused, looking out at the mountains.  "I guess it just feels like I lost him…  And that…"

 _"Feels a little like it did when you lost your wife and son?"_ Josiah asked softly.

"More than I would've guessed, to be honest…"

_"Maybe we should go talk to Dr. Davidson.  He might know something we could do."_

"Yeah, maybe so," Chris said, feeling helpless.

 _"It can't hurt,"_ Josiah encouraged.

After a deep breath, Larabee nodded.  "You're right.  It can't hurt.  We'll go.  Call him, okay?  Set up something as soon as you can."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**A week later**

Lying in his own bed, Vin drifted off to sleep.  The dreams were waiting for him, just like they had been for the last six nights.

Chris and the others were key players in the nightly sagas, all of them getting hurt, dying, while Vin stood back and let it happen.

Sometimes they were in the city, sometimes in the mountains, but the men were always getting hurt, or killed, and it was always his fault.

Waking with a start, he sat up and rubbed a trembling hand across his face.  Tanner sighed heavily and his stomach grumbled, but he was too tired to see what was left in his refrigerator.  It wasn't a new story.  Even when his stomach demanded attention, his head didn't feel hungry, so he had refused to eat.  Over the past week he had lost nearly ten pounds.

He didn't care.  He passed the time sitting on the roof of his building until the cold drove him back inside, or trying to sleep, or just sitting in his living room, staring at nothing.  Images continued to assail him, but he made no efforts to sort through them any more.

He also refused to see Dr. Davidson again, even after Larabee had come by several times, asking him to do so.

 _Why don't they just leave me alone?_ he wondered.  _'M worthless t' 'em_.

He shook his head.  Why did they keep stopping by, trying to talk him into coming back to the ranch?

 _Okay, so they're friends 'a Vin Tanner's, but who am I?  Not that guy, not the man they knew, that's fer sure_ , he concluded.

He looked up at the ceiling.  _Am I ever gonna know who I am?_ he asked the fates, but there were no answers for him.

Sighing heavily again, he forced his eyes to close, hoping the dreams wouldn't find him again tonight.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The next day the weather turned even worse, going cold and damp.  And then it snowed, and snowed, and snowed some more.

Four days into the deep freeze, the heat only working a little, Vin thought about going to the hotel, but he couldn't work up enough energy to gather a few belongings and get himself over to one.  Instead, he lay in his bed, listening to the snow pelt the windows while he shivered and coughed.

How long had he been sick?

He couldn't remember.  He sighed softly.  _Can't remember nothin'!_

He coughed again, pain ripping through his lungs as it became harder and harder to breathe.  And he was hot.

Another chill attacked his body, making him feel like his bones were caught in vices, and he moaned.

_What's goin' on?_

Some part of his mind registered the fact that he was sick and needed help, but there was no place to turn.  Besides, getting help meant he had to move, and he definitely did not want to do that.

He tried closing his eyes, but another cough tore through his chest, curling him into a ball on his side.

 _Get up!_ some part of his mind commanded.

He groaned and curled tighter, tugging the blankets tighter around his shoulders.  "Go away," he mumbled to the voice inside his head.

_Get up!_

"Go away," he moaned louder.

_Go t' the ranch – now!_

Another cough, and this time he thought he tasted blood, but he didn't bother to check.

_Chris'll help ya.  Go t' the ranch!_

Vin groaned, but sat up, unable to ignore the drill-sergeant style commands.  His whole body was shaking, sweat dripping off his chin and onto the blankets.

"Larabee's not gonna help me," he said and sighed.  "He hates me now."

_He doesn't hate y', y' damn fool.  He'll help y'.  Move!_

With a frustrated moan, Vin inched to the edge of the bed and weakly climbed out.  He pulled on an extra layer of clothes, then his black leather jacket, and headed to the parking lot.  He had been told his Jeep was totaled, but he still had a motorcycle.  He didn't look forward to using it in this weather, but he had no other options.

A few minutes later, with a howling wind whipping snow against him, he climbed onto the bike.  He cursed softly as he started the engine.

_Get yer ass in gear, damn it!_

Vin pulled on his helmet and maneuvered the bike out into the deserted street.

_The ranch, get t' the ranch!_

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Vin hit a patch of ice and nearly lost control of his motorcycle as he reached the turn off for Larabee's home.  He managed to wrestle it back under control, pulling over and stopping when he reached the end of the driveway leading to the house.

Climbing stiffly off his bike, Vin started down the gravel road on foot, stumbling and wheezing his way toward the house.  The lights were off, telling him that Larabee was already in bed.

Slipping where ice had formed under the fresh dusting of snow, Vin fell to his knees, the impact triggering another round of coughing that nearly drove him unconscious.

_Get up!  Get up, now!_

With strength he didn't think he had, Vin managed to struggle to his feet and continued on toward the front door.  He checked the knob, but it was locked, just like he knew it would be.  But he had a key.

He fished in the pocket of his leather coat, pulling out his keys.  But his fingers were numb, fumbling, and he dropped them.

His hands shaking, Tanner bent to pick up the keys, but the move triggered another round of coughing.  He dropped to his knees, the force of the coughs making his stomach heave, but there was nothing there except a small amount of bile.

For a few moments it felt as though he were going to choke to death as he coughed and retched at the same time.  He could feel the sweat dripping from his face and running into his eyes, making them sting.

"Chris," he gasped softly, his gaze lifting to the door knob, which seemed impossibly far away.

He sagged, leaning heavily against the wall and stared at the keys, lying just beyond his reach.  "Can't," he rasped, shaking his head.

_Yes, y' c'n!  Come on!  Move, damn it!  Move!_

Forcing his arm to rise, he reached for the keys, finally managing to fumble them into his palm.  Then, wheezing terribly, he located Larabee's key, no longer caring how he knew it was the right one.

He looked up at the door knob again and knew he had to raise his arm in order to insert the key into the lock, but he was too weak.  Still, he had to try.

His mouth open as he gulped for air, he forced his arm to lift.  When he reached the knob, he tried to insert the key, but he was shaking so much he couldn't thread it in.  Slumping back against the wall, he called, "Chris…" before another round of coughing tore at his lungs with fiery, sharp claws.

_Move!_

"Can't…"

_Call fer help!  Call fer Chris!_

Following the internal instructions, Vin called as loudly as he could, but he could hardly hear himself over the sound of the wind whipping through the pines near by.  There was no way the blond could hear him.

"Chris," he wheezed again, pounding weakly against the door until darkness stole away his consciousness.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Lying in his bed, Larabee stared up at the dark ceiling.  With a sigh he turned over and forced his eyes closed, willing himself to sleep.

_Chris…._

He rolled onto his back again and stared at the ceiling once more.  After a minute he sat up with a frustrated huff.  "Damn you, Vin," he whispered, shaking his head.  What the hell was he going to do about that man?

Knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep until he at least called Tanner and made sure he was all right, Chris tossed the covers back and stood.  Reaching for his clothes, he pulled on a pair of thick sweat pants and an equally thick sweat shirt.  Socks and moccasins followed.

Dressed, Chris headed for his office where his cell phone was charging.

He stopped as soon as he stepped into the hallway and peered around, puzzled.  Something wasn't right.  Taking another step toward his office, he was forced to stop again.

_Chris…_

"What the hell?" he muttered softly, frowning.  "Vin?" he called.  "Vin!"  He started down the hallway, checking in the guest room, the bathroom, kitchen and, finally, the living room.

Larabee stood in the hallway, his hands on his hips.  He could have sworn that he'd heard Tanner call his name, but there was no one there.

A soft thumping sound reached his ears and he turned, staring at the closed front door.  "Vin?" he murmured as he lunged forward, twisting the deadbolts and yanking the door open.

He found the man curled up on his front porch beside the door.  What sounded like a soft moan echoed out of the darkness, followed by an ominous-sounding cough that sounded more like the man had choked.

 _How did he get here_? Larabee wondered as he hurried to the man.  "Vin?"

The man didn't move or respond.

Squatting down next to his friend, Larabee could hear the wet, labored breathing.  "What the hell've you done to yourself?" he asked, shaking the man's shoulder.  "Come on, Tanner, wake up!"

"Huh?" was the answering wheeze.

"Come on, we have to get you inside."

"Can't… too tired."

"Yes, you can," Chris insisted, pulling his friend up so he was sitting back against the wall.

"Tried… can't," Vin argued, weakly trying to fend off the hands that were moving him.

"I'll help you," Larabee urged, standing and forcing Tanner to his feet. "Grab my arm."

Vin reached out, his fingers grabbing, but then slipping off the soft material.

"Grab my arms!"

Vin tried again, his numb fingers curling into the thick fabric this time.

"Now, move your feet!" Chris yelled, already starting to shiver from the cold.

Vin shuffled unsteadily forward, Chris pulled him along and, together, they made it into the house and then into the living room.

Larabee's eyes went wide when he finally saw Tanner in the light he turned on.  "Shit," he hissed.  "Don't move," he snapped, hurrying to the phone in the kitchen and calling 911, requesting an ambulance.

He rushed back to Tanner.  "Vin!" he snapped, his hand pressed against the man's icy, almost white cheek.  "I called for the paramedics," he said.  "They should be here soon.  Vin, can you hear me?" he called, as he checked the man for any injuries. "My God…" he breathed.  "You're burning up."

Vin sucked in a shallow, rattling breath and tried to force his eyes open, but they steadfastly refused to comply.

"I'm gonna get a blanket," he heard Chris say.  "Stay there."

Stay here?  Where the hell was he going to go?  He couldn't even open his eyes, let alone get up and walk out…

The blond hurried to the hallway closet, grabbing two spare blankets and taking them back to the living room.  He gathered Vin up and maneuvered him around so he was propped up at the end of the sofa.  "Hang in there, Cowboy," he said.  "You're gonna get through this, I promise."

 _Glad you think so_ , was Tanner's unspoken reply.

Then, Larabee carefully undressed the sodden man and bundled him up the best he could in the blankets.

"Vin, are you having a hard time breathing?" Chris asked, watching the water dripping off the man's hair.

Vin managed to nod.

"Hang on, Vin, the paramedics will be here anytime.  I'm gonna grab a towel."

Chris hurried to the bathroom, grabbing a towel and coming back to dry Tanner's hair as best he could.  "Jesus.  You've lost a lot of weight."

"Tired…" Tanner wheezed.

"You look like shit," Chris snapped, angry although he didn't know why.

The distant wail of a siren told Larabee help had arrived.

"Vin," he said, leaning close to the man's ear.  "You listen to me.  You die and so help me— just don't, okay?"

Vin wished he could laugh, but he knew what would happen if he triggered another round of coughing.  Chris…  It felt like he was floating.  Images drifted past, memories… good memories… memories of Chris and his other friends…  And, for the first time since the car accident, he didn't feel alone and lost.  He still couldn't string two coherent thoughts together, but he knew he wasn't alone, and for now, that was enough.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**A couple of hours later**

"Didn't we just do this?" Buck muttered as he sank back against the overstuffed chair in the hospital waiting room, watching Chris absently rub his leg.  He leveled a concerned look on his friend.  "You okay?"  Larabee had called him on his cell phone as he had pulled out behind the ambulance and he, in turn, had called the others, who had now joined them at the hospital.

"It'll be fine," Larabee stated flatly.

Wilmington frowned, but there was nothing he could do.  Chris hadn't said more than three words since he had explained to the ladies' man how he'd found Vin earlier that night.  Buck had passed the story on to the others as they arrived.

Then they had settled into an uneasy silence while they waited to hear from the doctor.  Josiah and Nathan were both reading.  JD had managed to doze off.  And Ezra was playing a game of solitaire, which left Buck with nothing to do but watch Larabee.

After an hour or so in the silence, Buck sighed and said, "I think this is some kind of a record."

"Oh?" Josiah mumbled, blinking sleepily as he looked up from the book he was holding.

"Yeah," the ladies' man replied.  "As I figure it, Vin's been in three different hospitals in less than a month."

Ezra grinned thinly.  "We will have to come up with an appropriate reward."

"Reward?" Larabee snapped.

Standish was about to reply when a young man walked in and asked, "Excuse me, are you waiting for Mr. Tanner?"

"Yeah," Chris said, his attention diverted from the undercover man.  He stood.

"Dr. Sommers would like to see you in her office.  If you'd just come with me?"

The agents rose and followed the man to an office where they were met by a middle-aged woman with grey-streaked, short brown hair and cinnamon-colored eyes.

"I'm Dr. Sommers," she greeted them, shaking hands with each of the men as they stepped into her office.  She gestured for them to use the two available chairs while she walked around her desk and sat down.

The young man stepped inside, handing her a chart.  "Thanks, Tim," she said with a smile.  Opening the file, she said, without looking at it, "First the bad news.  Mr. Tanner has one nasty case of pneumonia."

"Pneumonia?" Chris echoed, a sudden chill snaking down his back and pooling in his guts.

She flashed him a reassuring smile.  "The good news is, he stabilized quickly, and he's already responding to the antibiotics we've put him on.  However, he's running a high fever, which we're monitoring closely.  I think he should be through the worst of it in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

Buck's cheeks puffed in relief.  "Suppose we can't see him until tomorrow," he grumbled, annoyed by the usual hospital rules.

Dr. Sommers shook her head.  "Nope.  You can see him right now if you'd like.  We have twenty-four hour visiting hours here at Summit, unless we just don't have room for you while we're doing procedures.  In fact, there's a pull-out bed in his room if someone wants to stay with him tonight."

Buck's eyes widened.  "You're kidding, right?"

"Not at all," she assured him.

"Can we _all_ see him?" JD asked her hopefully.

"I don't see why not," Dr. Sommers replied.  "The pull-out's only big enough for one, but if you'd all like to stay I'm sure we can come up with something to accommodate you."

Nathan beamed.  "That's great.  So many hospitals—"

"I don't think we all need to stay the night," Chris interrupted.  "But if we could check in on him, that'd be great."

Dr. Sommers looked down, checking the chart.  "He's in room 313.  Turn right out of the elevators.  It's toward the middle of the hall.  He'll probably be here for a couple of days, but I wouldn't worry."

The men stood.  "Thank you, Doctor," Larabee said, leaning forward to shake her hand again.

"You're quite welcome.  I'll be by to check on him around midnight, then again in the morning."

The agents headed straight from the doctor's office to the elevators.  On the third floor they turned right, but still managed to take the wrong hall.  They backtracked and quickly found Vin's room.

Inside, the sniper was hooked to an IV and an oxygen cannula rested across his upper lip.  The tableau was far too familiar, but there was something new, a soft scraping sound that accompanied each breath he took, although it sounded better to Larabee's ear than the earlier rattling, wheezes.

"Vin?" Chris said quietly as they reached the bedside.

Tanner's eyes blinked open, but they remained glazed and unfocused.

"Hey, Cowboy, how're you doing?"

Vin's head rolled to the side as he sought out the source of the voice.  The sniper's face was damp with sweat, and when Chris reached out to grip the man's arm, he could feel the heat radiating off Vin's skin before he even touched him.

"Vin, you awake?"

The blue eyes slowly focused on Chris' face, and Tanner smiled weakly, saying, "Chris…?"

The blond felt his heart jump.  There was something about the way he had said his name.  Or maybe it was the familiar expression in the blue eyes.  "Vin?"

"Guess 'm… pretty sick, huh?"

"Vin, do you know who I am?" Chris asked him, squeezing his friend's arm a little harder.

The man's forehead wrinkled.  "Feel kinda funny…"

Larabee squeezed the man's arm again.  "Don't worry about it," he said.  "They're taking good care of you.  You just work on getting better, okay?"

Vin closed his eyes.  "'Kay… 'm tired…"

The disappointment was strong, but Chris let it go for now.  "Get some rest," he told Vin.  "Don't worry about anything, Cowboy," he added, his voice gentle with affection.  "I'll be right here, okay?"

"'Kay…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

The next day Vin's fever peaked and broke.  He slept for eighteen hours straight while Chris and the others took shifts, sitting with him and encouraging him to get well and wake up.

Almost twenty-four hours later, he did just that.

Vin groaned softly, his eyebrows arching as he pulled his eyelids open.  Peering around the room, he found JD sitting in a chair, GameBoy in his lap.

"What're y' playin'?" he asked, his voice raspy.

JD's head snapped up.  "Vin?"

The younger man nodded and tried to swallow.  "Water?" he choked out.

"I'll get it," Dunne said, setting the game aside and standing.  It took him a moment to locate a glass and fill it at the sink in the room.  Carrying it back to the bed, he rummaged in the rolling bedside stand for a straw.  He bent it over and held the glass for Vin, who took several sips before saying, "Thanks."

"No problem," was the immediate reply.  "How're you feeling?  How's your chest?  Are you in any pain?  What can you remember?"

Vin grinned slightly as he thought for a moment, then replied, "Pretty good…  Sore…  Not really…  Some, I think."

JD beamed.  "Really?  That's great!  Do you know who I am?"

Tanner thought for a second.  "JD…"

The smile that split the young man's face was huge.  "That's right!  That's a great start!"

"Hope so," Vin sighed, then coughed.  The grimace on Tanner's face, and the sudden loss of color in his cheeks, was sufficient to prompt JD to ring for the nurse.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**A couple of hours later**

"Vin, you awake?"

Blue eyes blinked open.  "Chris?"

"How do you feel?" the blond asked, grabbing a chair and dragging it over to the bedside.

The sniper frowned.  "Why's that the first question anyone 'round here asks me?"

"Hospital rule," Larabee offered with a straight face.  "Any more memories come back?"

Vin shrugged.  "Lots 'a violent stuff," he admitted, feeling slightly uncomfortable as he glanced away.

"You have to expect that, Vin.  You were in the Army, worked as a bounty hunter, then in the US Marshal's Service.  And now you're an ATF agent.  You've seen a lot of violence."

"I guess."

"Come on, Vin, what's really wrong?" Chris prodded, leaning closer to the man.  "Talk to me.  You used to."

Vin rolled his head to the side so he could meet the man's troubled gaze.

 _Talk t' him_ , said the now-familiar voice inside his skull.

"Keep seein' times when y' get hurt – you 'n' the others."

Larabee frowned.  "That's just gotta be dreams, Vin.  We haven't been dinged up much."

"But when y' are, it's m' fault," Vin challenged.

The blond cocked his head to the side.  "I don't know what you're seeing, Vin, but I can tell you, you've saved my life more times than I can count – the others, too.  And we've saved your scrawny ass a few times too.  There's _never_ been a time when you were to blame for one of us getting hurt."

Vin's eyes narrowed.  "What about—?  What about—?  Ah hell, I can't remember!"

"Dr. Davidson said that, sometimes, amnesia fades slower when the person has an unresolved issue they're grappling with."

"Must be one hell of 'n issue," Vin scoffed.

Chris stood, looking down at his friend as he said seriously, "Vin, I want you to listen, and listen good.  The last case we worked involved a missing child, Alisa Poon, a four-year-old—"

"Asian girl," Vin finished.  It felt as if the air had been sucked from his lungs and he blinked rapidly, gulping for air.

Larabee nodded.  "Turned out she was one of five kids who had been abducted and—"

"Killed," Vin finished again, the images of the girl's body racing through his mind.  He recognized them.  "Tortured."

"Yeah," the blond replied softly.  "But we didn't know that at the time.  We were just looking for a man who was trading stolen guns for kids like Alisa."

"C-Carroll," Vin whispered, his gaze turning inward.  "David Carroll."

"No, not David Carroll, Thomas Carroll.  Thomas Carroll was the man who actually tortured those kids to death."  Chris reached out and squeezed Vin's arm, bringing him back from the morass of memories that were rapidly bubbling to the surface.  "Thomas was David's twin."

Vin blinked, tears welling in his eyes as he remembered the child and her family's reaction.  "He shot ya."

Larabee nodded.  "We found out where Thomas Carroll was supposed to be staying.  We went to bring him in."

"I left m' position!" Vin said, remembering.

Another nod.  "When we got there, we found Carroll had already swapped a crate of handguns for another child, a little Mexican girl."

Vin nodded, the events playing out like a movie in his mind.

"You did what you had to in order to get Carroll.  If you hadn't, God only knows how many more children might have died."

"And y' got shot," Tanner said softly.

"I'm fine," Chris added, meeting the man's guileless gaze.  "Like I told you the day of the shooting, you did the right thing."

"But y' got hurt," he argued.

"Vin…"

Larabee's tone was threatening, but Vin knew the man didn't mean it.  He smiled thinly.  "Guess it just comes down t' the fact 'm afraid 'm gonna get y' hurt," he muttered.  "You or one of the others.  'M gonna make a mistake out there 'n' one of y' are gonna pay the price."

Chris thought for a moment and then said, "Vin, I can't promise that what you're saying will never happen.  Hell, for that matter I can't say I won't make a mistake and get one of you hurt.  But I can tell you this.  We're a good team – the best.  We work well together, and I think we're better together than we are apart.  In this line of work, sometimes we have to play it by ear.  And sometimes we have to take risks to get the job done.  I trust you to take the right risks, Vin, and so do the rest of the boys."

Vin blinked rapidly, trying to control the emotions that battled for release.

"I'd be willing to bet you were worrying about the Carroll case when the accident happened."

"Don't remember, but Dr. Davidson said it was probably somethin' like that.  Said m' subconscious thought it could keep y'all safe by keepin' me from rememberin' you."

"Well, it was wrong," Chris said softly.  "We need you out there, watching our backs and backing us up."

Vin nodded again and Chris took a risk, leaning over to give his best friend a hug.  Tanner returned the gesture, holding on tighter than Larabee expected.  "'M really sorry, Chris."

"Just get better so we can get back to work, and life."

Vin nodded.  "'M sorry this was hard on ya."

"It was hard on all of us, but it's over," Chris said, stepping back when Vin's grip finally loosened.

Tanner looked up at the blond, his expression thoughtful.  "I guess I just got caught behind them walls."

"Walls?"

Vin smiled tiredly.  "Walls in m' head.  Built 'em up when I was a kid.  Used t' be I could slip behind 'em and hide from… from whatever I wanted to."

"I guess we all do that," Chris replied softly.

"I guess.  Y' ever get trapped there?"

"Not recently," the blond replied softly.  "But after Sarah and Adam were killed… I had my own demons to fight to escape from behind those walls, Vin, believe me."

A small smile lifted the corners of the sniper's mouth.  "Reckon we all do.  Guess the trick's t' work 'em out with those who care 'bout us when we can, huh?"

Chris smiled and nodded, reaching out to rest his hand on Vin's shoulder.  He squeezed, saying, "Never been more right.  Look, I'm gonna go grab a cup of coffee, and when I get back, we're gonna talk.  Really talk.  You hear me?"

Vin nodded.  "Think 'm ready," he said, then watched as Larabee walked to the door.  "Chris?"

The blond paused in the doorway.  "Yeah?"

"Thanks," he said softly.

Chris nodded, feeling his throat tighten.  He'd come so close to giving up – they both had.  Vin wasn't back yet, but he was on the right road now, and that was all that mattered.  The rest would work itself out.  "I'll be back in a minute," he promised.

Tanner nodded.  "'Kay."  When Larabee was gone, he closed his eyes.  No, he wasn't alone any more.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

**A couple of days later**

Vin stepped into Larabee's home and glanced around.  What had seemed so strange, so foreign just a couple of weeks ago now hummed with familiarity.  Stopping, he drew in a deep breath and let it out in a long, contented sigh.  He was home – finally.

Continuing into the living room, he stopped again to gaze around the room.  He remembered which chair he usually used, remembered who had bought what for whom, recognized the minor changes that had been made over the past month and a half.  He smiled.  He was almost back to normal.  There were still occasional holes in his memory that he stumbled across, but they usually filled quickly when he stopped and concentrated.

The day of the car accident still remained a complete mystery, but that was perfectly normal according to Dr. Davidson, so he had stopped trying to recall the events that had led to the amnesia in the first place.

The team was still trying to determine who had been responsible for the hit and run.  David Carroll categorically denied any involvement.  Vin didn't expect that search to bear fruit.  It could've been anyone, including a complete stranger who was drunk, or stoned, or just pissed off at the world.

Walking over to the sofa that faced the fireplace, he sat, enjoying the sensation of being home.

He closed his eyes, remembering how he had met the young woman who had stopped to help him after the car accident.  Callie Brin was cute and perky, and she had been very embarrassed when he had spontaneously given her a hug and kiss.  He wasn't sure the young State Patrol officer she was now dating had approved, but he didn't really care.  He'd wanted to say thank you, so he had.

Tomorrow he planned to go see if he could find Stacy so he could thank her for all her help.  Dr. Davidson thought the alcohol she'd given him might have been one reason his memories hadn't returned more quickly, but she couldn't have known the risks.  And she'd saved his butt when he needed help most.

Leaning back against the cushions, he listened as Buck and JD came in carrying groceries that they took straight to the kitchen.  A few moments later Josiah and Nathan came in with sodas and more food.  Ezra was the last to arrive, and he wasn't carrying anything, which, Vin knew, was _not_ unusual.

Vin closed his eyes, letting the waves of ordinariness wash over him.  God, it felt good.  Tomorrow he knew he had to go get his Jeep.  Chris had already warned him about the extent of the damage.  He'd probably have to write it off and get a new one.  Well, he decided, it was probably time.  It was always breaking down, and the heater wasn't really able to chase off the cold any more.  And it was a small price to pay for getting his life and his family back.

And then there was the Carroll arraignment.

Thinking about the brothers made Vin's skin crawl.  Severely abused as children, the twins had ended up in several mental institutions, until federal funding had run out and they had been put out on the streets.  David had plotted the abductions, but Thomas had carried them out, but not any more.  Thomas was dead, and David in jail, where he would no doubt remain for the rest of his life.

He heard Chris come in and stop.  The blond was looking at him, trying to determine if something was wrong.  When he heard Larabee move closer, Vin opened his eyes and smiled at the man.  "Good t' be home."

Chris nodded in reply.  "I know what you mean," he said.  "Good to feel like things are finally back to normal."

"Normal?" Vin questioned.  "'Round here?"

"You've got a point," Chris mumbled, frowning slightly.  Vin chuckled and he shook his head.  "Normal doesn't go with the six of you."

The others joined them in the living room, Buck dropping onto the sofa next to Vin.  "We're all stocked up," he said, then glanced at his watch.  "Uh, Chris, I think it's about time."

"Time?" Vin asked suspiciously.  "Time for what?  Don't tell me the doctor sent a bunch 'a pills with y' for me t' take."

"Nope, nothing like that," JD assured him.

"Reservations," Josiah explained.

"Reservations?" Vin echoed.

"At Morton's," Ezra added.

The suspicious look on Vin's face deepened.  "Since when do _we_ go t' Morton's?  I haven't forgotten everythin', y' know.  What're y' guys up to?"

JD grinned.  "Hey, that's good, Vin!"

Chris shook his head.  "It's a celebration."

"A celebration?"

"You didn't hear me the first time?" Larabee growled.

"Jeeze, Vin, you're startin' to sound like a parrot," Buck complained as he stood and offered Tanner his hand.

Letting the ladies' man tug him to his feet, Tanner huffed, "Just tell me what the hell's goin' on."

"A party," Nathan supplied.

"A—?"

"Junior!"

"Sorry," was the sniper's sheepish reply.  "But—"

"Come on," Chris said.  "You'll see when we get there."

Vin sighed and shook his head, but he went along.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

At the well-known LoDo steakhouse he wasn't all that surprised to find a bunch of people waiting for them:  Raine, Nettie and Casey, Callie Brin and her new boyfriend, Captain Kathy Karon, and Stacy.  He walked up to the waitress first, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"How are you?" she asked him, her serious expression not masking the twinkle in her eye.

"Fine," Vin said.  "Rememberin' more every day, like all y' did for me."

She blushed.  "It wasn't that much."

"Yes, it was," Chris said, stepping up to join the pair.  "I wanted you to know how much we appreciate everything you did for Vin."

She nodded, blushing more before Nettie interrupted, giving Stacy an opportunity to escape.

"So, ya got your memory back, huh?" the older woman asked him.

"Most of it," Vin replied a little self-consciously.

"And me?" she asked him.

Chris shook his head, saying, "Nettie, you know Vin could _never_ forget you."

Vin blushed.  "Not for long, anyway."  He gave her a hug.  "Never for long."

Nettie smiled and patted his cheek, saying softly, "Glad to hear that, son – very glad."  She moved off to make sure JD wasn't getting too fresh with Casey.

Vin watched her go.  "Y' know, there are some things we should never forget," he said softly.

"I know what you mean," Chris said, resting his hand on Vin's shoulder and guiding him over to meet Kathy Karon.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

Three hours later, dinner and the well-wishers had left Vin pleasantly tired and very content.  Leaning back in his chair, he listened to the buzz of their conversations, but didn't pay any attention to any one in particular.  The ring of a knife on a water glass broke through his reverie.

Chris stood, glancing around the table.  "I just wanted to thank all of you for coming tonight," he said, then looked down at Vin, who was sitting next to him.  "I think Vin would agree, it was a great welcome home."

Tanner nodded.  "Absolutely, thank you."  The guests applauded and he dipped his head to hide the stain of color on his cheeks.

"Vin, I just wanted to say…  It's good to have you back, Cowboy.  And I'm sorry I wasn't a better friend to you when you needed me."

Vin felt his eyes begin to burn.  "Chris—" he said, but his voice caught.  Pushing himself to his feet, he shook his head.  "It was me," he said to their assembled friends.  "I was tryin' t' make sure I didn't get hurt… by runnin' away from the people I cared about.  But y' can't run from your friends.  They always know where t' find ya.  Can't run from home, 'cause it keeps pullin' y' back.  Guess it comes down t' this: y' can't run from love, 'cause you're always carryin' it with ya, in your heart."

Larabee took a step, putting him face to face with his best friend.  He could see Vin was embarrassed, and a little anxious, unsure what he was planning to do.  But he trusted him.

The team and the others assembled watched the two friends as Chris reached out, grabbing Vin's shoulders and pulling him into a hug.  "You mean more to me than I can say, Vin," he said quietly, for just Tanner's ears.  "And nothing's ever going to change that."

Vin returned the hug, unshed tears stinging his eyes.  "Y' got that right, Cowboy" he managed to push past his tight throat.

The onlookers erupted into spontaneous applause and the two agents stepped apart, laughing, both of their cheeks colored bright red.

"We must've looked pretty damn silly," Vin mumbled, but he refused to move from beside Larabee.  He had finally made peace with himself.

"Who cares," was the unexpected reply.  "That's what friends are for."

Vin's eyes met Chris' and he nodded, then added innocently, "Someone t' share the humiliation."

Larabee snorted and shook his head.  "Damn ungrateful sniper," he muttered, sitting down.

Vin sat as well, blue eyes twinkling.  Oh, yeah, he was home…


End file.
